Harry Potter and the Blood of Arthur
by Divine-Faithborn
Summary: Young Harry Potter just wanted someone to love him. He wasn't expecting for his magical wish to bring forth the deadliest game that humanity has never experienced. Now, as an unwilling participant thanks to a wish gone wrong, Harry Potter must survive the six other masters and their legendary servants. It would help if his own servant actually cared about him.
1. The summoning

**A/N:** See the bottom of the page if you want the author's note.

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Harry Potter and the Blood of Arthur, chapter 1

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"Silver and iron to the origin. Gem and the archduke of contracts to the cornerstone. Though I have nothing to offer I still beseech thee."

The circle was in place, carefully drawn upon a stolen sheet of printer paper in an unprofessional red marker. The command sigils were inscribed onto his hand; black pen having been used to draw three neat little circles on the back of his left palm. His mind was made up and he was speaking the memorized text, although it was a foolish ritual and anyone with a shred of common sense knew that nothing would happen. Still he chanted on.

"The aligned wind becomes a wall. The gates in the four directions close, coming from the crown, the three-forked road that leads to the kingdom circulate."

It would likely get him into trouble with the Dursleys, but for one seven year old Harry Potter, anything was the price he was willing to pay for his wish to be granted. The young boy had seen the ritual used in a book at his school's library and he had inexplicably known that he could complete it. Just like the heroes of that book, Harry knew that he could summon a legend from the throne of heroes to grant his wish. It was his sincere childish hope that legend would not only grant his wish, but save him from his relatives as well.

Even though the librarian had told him the book was merely fiction, Harry knew that it would work. For weeks he had entertained the fantasy of being someone who called down a legend. He entertained the notion of fighting in a Grail war against the other masters. The violent combat that only heroic spirits were capable of inspired him, as did the motivation for fighting in the war itself. He truly and desperately wanted for a chance to have his wish come true.

"Shut (fill). Shut (fill). Shut (fill). Shut (fill). Shut (fill). Repeat every five times. Simply, shatter once filled."

As he continued to chant, magic filled the air. Harry had known that this would happen; after all, he had done his research as best as any seven year old boy could do. He had stolen paper from the school and drawn countless designs while he was locked away underneath the cupboard that was his room at the Dursleys. He had memorized the lines and constantly chanted them in order, changing the verses in order to best suite his own need. When Vernon, that awful oaf of a man, had forbidden him from speaking Harry had continued to memorize the lines of the summoning ritual in his head, for nothing could sway from his dream.

And finally, when he was ready and his summoning circle was finally completed to the best of his ability, he had drawn the command sigils upon his hand. Tonight was the night that his life would change.

"I announce. Yourself is under me, my fate (doom) is in your sword."

He prayed to God for a miracle.

"In accordance with the resort to the Holy Grail, if you abide by this feeling, this reason, then answer."

According to the book, magecraft was all about convincing yourself that the magic could work. You had to impose your will onto reality and force it into existence. You had to truly believe that you could do the things you wished for your magic to do.

And Harry knew, somehow, that he could successfully complete the summoning ritual. After all, if he couldn't complete the ritual then why had the paper summoning circle begun to glow with power? His relatives had called him a freak when they saw the glowing symbols and tried to crush any notion that he had magical powers. But all they did was reinforce his belief that he had magical powers and they were the cause of the glow. No wonder they had been so ruthless in trying to crush his spirit.

"Here is my oath. I am the one who becomes all the good of the world of the dead; I am the one who lays out all the evil of the world of the dead."

In another universe, the words and magic would indeed summon a hero for a Grail War. But this was not that universe. In this universe there was no Holy Grail to summon the heroes of legend. There was no group of magi to fight to the death for a wish. There was no chance for Harry Potter's wish to be fulfilled through magic.

But let it be said that the accidental magic of an innocent child wizard was truly a wonderful and miraculous thing. In the universe of this Harry Potter, the wishes of a child wizard could do anything so long as the conviction was there. Before the magic of childhood wonder was shackled and caged beneath adult reason it could truly do anything, provided the child believed in it. That was true magic, whimsical and wonderful, elusive and pure.

"You, seven heavens clad in three words of power, arrive from the ring of deterrence, oh keeper of the balance!"

With that, Harry's chant was finished and the summoning ritual should have been completed. A hero should have arrived but instead only a shockwave of power rippled through the air. But despite that shockwave nothing else happened, save for the lingering smell of magic that decided to hang in the air. Seconds passed as Harry's resolve began to crumble away.

For most children, the results of accidental magic were surprisingly mundane. Some wished to have a special hair color while others desired to bounce a dozen feet into the air. Not so for the young Harry Potter, whose wish was strong enough that he wanted to touch the heavens. He knew that he had successfully completed the ritual. He was sure of it.

But why hadn't his servant come?

"Boy!? What are you doing in there!?"

No! The voice of Vernon Dursley booked as the giant of a man descended down the stairs above Harry's head. So strong were the stomps that dust from the short ceiling shook free and sprinkled the body of the now terrified seven year old. If that man, the man who hated Harry and his magic, learned of what Harry was doing then Harry knew that he would suffer eternally. Already Vernon had attempted to beat the idea of the ritual out of Harry, what would happen this time?

"Please heroic spirit..." prayed Harry as he closed his eyes and concentrated. The padlock outside of his door was jiggling fiercely as his uncle attempted to unlock it - the irony that the one thing meant to keep him isolated was now protecting him was lost as Harry shook in fear.

"Please, God, please grant my wish!"

XXXXXX

A pulse could be felt across the vast realm of humanity. It echoed through the dimensions endlessly until it found its destination at the seat of the throne of a legend. It had traveled across eternity in an instant as it sought out the legend that was best suited for the origin. The pulse had relentlessly searched all of the realms and all of the dimensions until at last it had found the right person, until at last it rested at the seat of the throne of a legend.

Said legend, clad in the tales of its fame, sat unimpressed upon its throne. It was a legend that was known to many, but it was a legend that sat skeptical and wary of the summoning at its feet. The plea upon its ears was equally unimpressive.

"A boy, of all people, would summon me?" the legend scoffed, fully aware that there would be no reward for its service. Despite the ritual used, there was no Grail War that would give it its own wish so no, it would not answer. The legend would not answer the pathetic prayer that was Harry Potter's magic. Instead the legend shifted in its seat and turned its head away from the pulse of magic.

But the prayer persisted.

"Shoo! Find someone else for I have no reason to help you!" dismissed the legend with a wave of its hand, brushing away at the ephemeral hopes and prayers of a young boy.

"Then perhaps I should give you one?"

The Heroic Spirit, startled, turned its attention back to the wish. In the magic's place was a goddess, the will of humanity. Where a pathetic prayer once existed stood Alaya. The only words that could describe her would be pure beauty beyond description. Her will was the very will of humanity, and the Heroic Spirit's own existence upon its thrown was because of the goddess in front of it.

Alaya was the being that had enshrined all Heroic Spirits in eternal glory, storing them in a glorified treasure vault. For the most part, she ignored the legends; content to simply let them exist outside of time for ever and always. She didn't visit without reason, and that reason was rarely good.

For her will was the survival of humanity and her appearing before the Heroic Spirit meant that she had demands of work for them. Anyone who sat upon the throne of heroes knew that they could be called down at any time, their free will stripped from their body, as they labored briefly in the world to meet Alaya's demands.

"What business have you, Alaya, at my throne?" questioned the Heroic Spirit as it entertained a look of puzzlement that belayed pure unadulterated terror. If Alaya wished for the prayer of the boy to be fulfilled then the prayer of the boy would be fulfilled. Just being here was a formality gifted to it by the will of humanity. She could just as easily ensnare the Heroic Spirit's will and enforce her desires by depriving its free will.

"I shall be brief," answered Alaya, "this boy holds the key to humanity in his dimension, but he will die soon without your intervention. Should you protect him and fulfill his wish, I shall grant you a wish of your own. If you do not aid him, I will instead strike your name from the throne of legends and cast you unto oblivion before finding a different Heroic Spirit."

Damn, that was quite a statement. On one hand, the Heroic Spirit could descend upon the human world much like a counter guardian to protect the boy. There was a shot at having its own wish fulfilled if it was successful too. And on the other hand, true eternal death waited if it turned its back to the boy in need.

The Heroic Spirit paused, contemplating Alaya's words. It turned its gaze away from the goddess only once, to muse over the pulse of energy that was Harry's wish. "How do I know that this boy's wish will be grantable and how do I know that you will fulfill your end of this bargain?"

Alaya simply smiled, an act that unnerved the Heroic Spirit. "His wish is simple and if you act without hubris you can easily fulfill it. Although this world does not have a Holy Grail War, I shall give you a Holy Grail War. And if you grant his wish, then you shall find victory easily within your grasp. His legend is still budding, but one day he will become one of my greatest tools."

Once again, the Heroic Spirit shuddered. Not only did Alaya know that the Heroic Spirit would accept her offer, but she also knew that the person making the call would one day become a counter guardian. The goddess knew everything, and was simply acting to ensure that the future would come to pass.

"You leave me no choice, Alaya, your will is absolute and your given options are a trap. Still, I will comply with this boy's wish; if only to grant my own wish."

In all seriousness, there was no choice - just the illusion of it. The will of humanity was forcing this Heroic Spirit to descend to the world. Hopefully it wouldn't be all that bad. After all, it too had a wish of its own. With one final warning, Alaya snapped her fingers and the world around the hero disintegrated into pure light.

"Grant his wish and I shall grant yours. Fail and I will cast you down from the throne of heroes permanently."

XXXXXX

"Please God, hear my prayer!"

A pulse of energy flashed through existence, shaking the young Harry Potter just as the padlock that his uncle was working upon snapped open. In Vernon's rage, the man had foregone the traditional use of a key and instead forcibly pried the lock from its hinges.

And then the door was next.

With all the strength of a giant, Vernon ripped the flimsy cupboard door out of its frame and stared down upon Harry Potter's terrified figure. Sheer abject horror radiated across Harry's body as he moved away from the new opening in his room - trembling as he moved into the corner and tried to make himself as small as possible. But, try as he might, Harry could not escape from Vernon nor could he turn his eyes away from the rage filled man.

There was a feral grin upon his face and a look that promised a world of untold pain onto the boy. "God won't save you boy!" he snarled as he took a step back and casually dropped the door to the floor. He would need both hands to deliver his punishment on the young Harry.

But before he could step forward for the promised punishment, a blinding light seemingly came from nowhere. It was everywhere all at once, painting Harry's vision in a dazzling white that overpowered everything. He could hear Vernon shout in rage and surprise, and then he could only assume that the man had been pushed onto the ground judging by the way he cried out in pain.

And then Harry's vision returned and he saw him.

There his hero stood; clad in a bright silver armor and a vibrant red cloth, dressed from head to toe in glory and pride. His back was to Harry, instead choosing to pay his attention to the man that he had shoved to the floor with a single outstretched and armored left hand. He was an imposing figure that stood straight and firm, without a single piece of skin showing beneath his battle regalia, and in his right hand he held a massive white broadsword that was more dazzling than any silver Harry had ever seen in his life.

"I offer you one chance, leave now or I will paint the walls with your blood."

Sir Mordred, the knight of betrayal, stood firm beneath her armor as she stared down the fat oaf in front of her. Her master was behind her, his small body next to nothing beside her imposing frame. It was likely that he didn't know what he was doing when he had summoned her, but Alaya had forced Mordred's hand in the matter. As much as she was loath to accept the chains around her that her master possessed, it was the only chance for her to gain her ultimate prize in the grail war that would begin very shortly.

But first, she had to deal with this rabble.

Vernon sat in terror, paralyzed by the stration notion that the armored knight was very real and very dangerous. It made no sense; the terrifying figure in front of him had simply appeared in a bright flash of light, and by all logic and reason could not be real. And yet Vernon Dursley had been brutally shoved to the ground. Just as he had been ready to strike Harry and beat the freak out of him, Harry had done something strange.

This terrifying knight in front of him simply had to be the fault of Harry and his freakishness. There was no other explanation.

"Who… Who are you?" stuttered Vernon quietly as he began to slowly back up, half crawling as he sought to create any distance possible between him and the man who had assaulted him. His voice betrayed him as it warbled, broadcasting his own abject horror. And he continued to back up pathetically; all the way until he bumped against a wall that refused to move out of his way.

It made no sense. He didn't know why he was terrified, but he was. There was something about this armored knight that told Vernon that it would be his doom.

"I am servant Saber," replied Harry's servant in a deep and low voice, "now take your family and leave now before I change my mind. I have little patience for cretins like you and scum like your family."

Against his better judgment, Vernon objected, "but this is our ho-Augh! We'll go! We'll go!"

The brilliant blade in Mordred's hand sang as it sharply interrupted Vernon's drabble. In an instant the blade had been leveled towards him and thrust forward quickly, all the while singing silver as the knight buried it deeply into the wall mere centimeters from Vernon's neck.

"Though I know that I will regret not cutting you open, I will give you this mercy. Now leave," insisted the heroic spirit Mordred, "and that goes for the woman and child as well."

Aunt Petunia and Dudley! How could Harry have forgotten about them? In all the chaos of the last few moments he never realized that Vernon hadn't been the only person to check on him. Of course they would be on the scene, but where were they?

"Alright, we'll come down peacefully," came Petunia's voice from the top of the stairs, well above Harry's head. She sounded both terrified and resolved, as if she knew that any noncompliance would be deadly.

"But mom!" whined Dudley, "why should we-"

"Be quiet Dudley!"

Oh wow. Harry was stunned by his aunt's frank speech. With three words she had seemingly admonished Harry's cousin for the first time ever. While it was unheard of, it was only natural that she was simply trying to protect her son from the armed home invader.

Unfortunately neither child recognized the intention behind her voice.

Harry's knight said nothing, instead deciding to pull his blade from the wall. As soon as it was out Mordred used his free hand to lift Harry's uncle to his feet, clearly intent on ushering Vernon out the door as quickly as possible.

Vernon simply complied, a look of mixed terror and resolve on his face. Inside his mind he knew that the only thing keeping him alive was his compliance to the demands of the knight. If he didn't comply then his family was as good as dead. And he quite liked living.

"But I don't want to leave! Dad make them go!"

Dudley, on the other hand, was not behaving at all. Unlike his parents, Dudley had never been in a life or death situation before and he was still too young to understand the concept of death. Unlike his parents, Dudley had never been punished before and was too naïve to understand that his desires were not the ultimate force in the universe. Either way, he had always been spoiled by his parents and was simply lashing out in the only way he knew how.

"You think your father can make me leave? Are you daft or just an idiot?" questioned Mordred with a hint of humor as he turned from Vernon towards the staircase. Although harry couldn't see past his knight's mask, the body language off his servant was one of surprise and quite a bit of hilarity. It was as though the knight was mocking the absurdity of the boy known as Dudley Dursley.

"Shut up you ugly faggot!"

Whoa, now that was completely uncalled for.

Harry winced at Dudley's crude insult. He could see his servant's hand tighten around his blade and the anger seemed to just roll off him as though he were a pot boiling over. Gone was the humor in the knight's body, replaced by pure rage that was barely restrained by the utmost force of will. Harry couldn't know for certain, but he could instinctively feel his knight's ire. It was red hot and slowly being worked down, as though his servant was debating whether or not to kill his cousin for his insult.

"I should kill you where you stand, for that insult." spat Harry's knight, anger in his voice.

But Dudley didn't deserve to die, as much as Harry disliked him. Yes, Dudley was a jerk and a bully and a spoiled brat; but none of those traits warranted death. Even though he was only seven and not too familiar with the concept himself, he was aware that death was a rather permanent punishment that seemed kind of harsh for simply insulting someone.

"Servant Saber," started Harry, interrupting his knight's rage. Immediately the knight turned his attention to Harry, looking him square in the eye. At least, that was what Harry thought his knight was doing, as the mask he wore obscured everything. "Please don't ki-"

The world around him exploded into action. His words died in his mouth as he felt all of his energy simply drain away from him. Harry couldn't even keep himself sitting up straight, instead collapsing near lifelessly with a terrified look of confusion in his eyes. Every single cell in his body screamed in pain and his heart felt as though a hot iron rod had just been inserted into it. He wanted to scream, but he couldn't. Instead he could only watch.

Vernon was the first to move; starting just barely after Harry had called out to his servant and drawn his attention. With a speed that he could not have possessed he leapt towards the knight and attempted to throttle him by his neck from behind. Perhaps the threat against his son had motivated him into action. Perhaps it was the knowledge that if he didn't stop the man in front of him, Vernon was going to die.

In the end, it didn't matter.

Mordred moved in a fluid motion, one that years of training had made possible. Using her strong feet and a burst of prana she pushed her body backwards with an inhuman strength, carrying Vernon along with him, stopping only as she slammed her would-be attacker into the wall. Vernon, stunned, released the knight as he was deposited into the wall in a small crater, only to watch in horror as Harry's knight quickly swiveled in place and swung her blade in a massive horizontal arc.

From the bottom of the floor to the top of the ceiling, blood painted the wall that Vernon Dursley had been pushed against. In one fell motion, Mordred had sliced cleanly through Vernon Dursley's body; his frame falling lifelessly into two separate chunks of meat that fell in two different directions.

There was a feminine scream from the staircase above her, and on that cue Mordred turned around and leapt out of Harry's vision. All the while Harry's body was screaming out in pain, as though something was sucking all of the energy from him. Unable to cope with the sensation, Harry couldn't withstand it and quickly lost consciousness.

He never heard his aunt and cousin die.

XXXXXX

Far away from number four Privet Drive rested a holy cup. It was nestled deep inside of a cave, far from human eyes. A thin layer of dust covered its golden and diamond shape as a testament to the fact that it had remained untouched for a long time. This cup was the Holy Grail, the real Holy Grail, and it had once been a part of a great and terrible contest between wizards.

It was an artifact of untold power, powered only by untold sacrifice, and it had been untouched for a very long time. In another world, maguses would have their servants fight to the death over this grail. In some worlds it would become corrupted and in other worlds it would remain pure. Sometimes it would grant a great wish and sometimes the only people capable of using it would die terrible deaths. In this world, the world of wizards, the contest had already taken place once before.

Yes, even in a world far different, the Holy Grail was still a thing that existed. It was still a literal Deus Machina that could grant any wish and it had still been fought over in a brutal contest. What was different was that this Holy Grail was only capable of granting one wish, and the warring system used to determine the victor had long since been shut down and forgotten to the ages.

Until now.

Golden power flowed forth from the grail as a strange light illuminated the cavern that it rested in. The cup's power had been touched by Alaya herself, and soon a golden liquid seeped out from the top of the grail and onto the pedestal it sat on.

The water continued to flow outwards in all directions before moving with an unnatural motion, congealing into a single large pool which then sprang upwards in defiance of gravity. The gold continued to spew from the chalice as the liquid turned into a pillar and rose higher and higher into the cavern. All the while radiant power saturated the cave with energy.

And then the liquid fell away, leaving behind a single gold-haired man who was dressed in a fine golden armor. He blinked once and then clicked his tongue, all the while smiling arrogantly.

"You summon me for this grail war, not to compete, but to administer it. Not to act, but to direct." He noted to no one in particular, although his conversation partner was listening intently. "I hope, for your sake Alaya, that this war proves to be entertaining. For me to wager the use of my personal treasure is already asking a lot, this contest had better be adequate repayment. "

His name was Gilgamesh, the great King of Heroes. In the entire world, everything was his possession. Indeed, he was to be the ruler of Alaya's great Grail War. In this impromptu war, there was no one better suited for administering this tournament than him. And, while Gilgamesh had half a mind to simply tell Alaya to screw off, she did promise at least some semblance of a show that he had never seen before.

"I suppose that I can at least orchestrate a performance for the ages, even if you give me mongrels instead of real actors."

So he would humor her, at least for now.

It wasn't like she could wish him out of existence in a heartbeat. Nope, that had nothing to do with his willingness to aid the goddess of humanity.

"Well, first things first, I guess I should summon the masters for this contest. I don't think they actually know what they're doing in this world." Gilgamesh mused as he picked up the Grail beside him. With a careless shrug, he tossed the Holy Grail into the air behind him, not at all watching as it disappeared into a golden portal that led to somewhere outside of this world. After all, all the treasures of the world were contained inside his Gates of Babylon – the cup would be safe for now.

"By the command of Alaya and the servant Ruler, I summon forth the minds of the seven masters for this war!"

At his command, seven lights were summoned into existence. Each one corresponded to a master that Alaya had chosen to participate in this tournament. Gilgamesh himself didn't know who the masters were, but Alaya had promised him that he would soon enough find out. Regardless, they were sure to be disoriented and confused, at least one of them was registering nothing but complete terror at the situation. He could feel their emotions, and they were the finest appetizers for the finest meal.

This would be fun.

"Greetings chosen meat bag masters! I am servant Ruler and I have summoned forth the seven of you with a magnificent announcement, so rejoice!" Gilgamesh proclaimed with a radiant grandeur, throwing up his arms and bathing the cavern with treasures from his personal vault. "I declare that this Holy Grail War will commence! The seven of you will summon forth seven legends like myself, although vastly inferior to me, in a bid to gain my favor. The winner of this war will be the last master to retain control of their servant and I shall bless them with any wish in the world."

"Be it material, such as gold, or immaterial, such as returning a loved one to life or fixing a mistake of the past, no wish will be too great. Now, summon your servants and prepare for war. I grow tired of this lecture so I'll not bother with the finer details. Instead, you shall simply know the rules."

Gilgamesh snapped his finger and smirked devilishly as he drank the terror of the seven lights before him. With a simple cue, Alaya had inserted the rules and finer details of the grail war into their heads. Such magic was unfortunately beyond the great king of heroes's abilities but there was no point in letting the actors know that. No, it was best to let them think him as truly omnipotent

"Know now what you do, with that knowledge in your minds, I shall see you in one week's time at the castle known as Hogwarts. There we shall create the most magnificent performance to ever grace this world. Now get out of my sights you mongrels!"

He snapped his fingers once more, and the seven lights were snuffed out.

XXXXXX

Mordred, the first servant of Alaya's grail war, stood still as she reflected upon her actions and the situation around her. Below her on the ground floor rested her still unconscious master and the corpse that had been his uncle. Her master's mind had been called elsewhere, just as he was about to call her off from attacking his family, but it would have required a command seal for him to have stopped her from killing his uncle – just as proof that she did not regret killing him.

No, far from it. She had warned him off, but Vernon still attacked despite being woefully outmatched. In truth Mordred had felt that it was similar to beating up on a toddler, but it had confirmed to her that she wasn't exactly a human anymore.

She was far greater than that. She was a legend.

In life, Mordred had been tremendously strong and her sword had been powerful. She had sat on the round table and commanded an army at the battle of Camlon. But even in her peak fitness as she had been before her death, Mordred had never been able to cleanly carve a person into two pieces. No, her blade would never have been able to butcher Vernon Dursley as it had just a few moments ago. Had she been as strong as a human, the bones in his body would have simply provided too much resistance for her to have carved straight through him from hip to shoulder.

The fact that she had used a burst of prana to leap the distance from the floor to the top of the stairs before impaling Petunia Dursley with her blade had reinforced the notion that Mordred was far more powerful that she originally was as well. In life Mordred had often used prana to reinforce her attacks much like her father had, but now the act of calling on the magical energy was so much easier and gave her a significantly higher boost in power.

Had she not been paying attention, she would have easily crashed into the ceiling instead of landing on Petunia.

With a silent nod to the newly departed that had helped her test out her abilities, Mordred turned her head down to stare at her left hand. The armor was pristine, but Mordred wished it away with a thought to reveal her slender hand that was covered mere seconds ago. Her fingers felt human as she ran her thumb across her fingers and palm, her skin was silky smooth. Truly they felt like real fingers, but the calluses that she had once possessed were now gone. Her hands had never really been this soft before.

"I question if this is the summation of my legend." She noted idly in wonder over her new form. How much would she be giving up and how much did she stand to gain by becoming a heroic spirit in this war? Would she really be able to gain her heart's desire in this grail war? Was she truly worthy, or would some other heroic spirit cut her down before she could achieve her dreams?

Would her master for this war, the boy that he was, be an asset to help her win or would he be a liability that she would have to carry to victory?

Turning her thoughts to her master, who was just now regaining consciousness, she ran over her initial judgments on him.

On one hand, he was supplying her with an incredible amount of prana. While Mordred wasn't entirely sure how to measure the output, she instinctively knew that she was draining him of a rather significant amount of energy in order to sustain herself in this world. What was more intriguing was the fact that she was pulling so much energy that her overall power levels were ever so slightly higher than they should have been. Indeed, her prana bursts were stronger than she had initially expected and her own monstrous strength felt much easier to use than it should have been.

And on top of that, she couldn't really feel a limit to her master's energy. Again, instinct told her that there would be some form of resistance when she was draining too much prana from him – but there wasn't any resistance at all. Try as she might to excessively pull the mana out from him, she couldn't find any end to his magical power. It was as though her master possessed an unlimited well of energy or had access to a secondary supply of magical power that had an amazing reserve of prana.

So at least she woudn't have to worry about that in a fight. That was a good thing.

On the other hand, her master was complete deadweight in every other aspect. For crying out loud, the kid was seven years old. When Mordred had initially felt his call, she had known that he was just a boy. He was naïve in the world and ignorant of many truths. He was just a kid and unlike the children of her age, he hadn't been educated in the world or trained with the sword.

He was pathetic in that regard and could not be relied upon as an ally to watch her back in this upcoming war. Even worse, where other servants could rely upon their masters for at least a little long range support, Mordred would need to coddle her master and protect him.

A part of her wanted to throw him in the nearest dumpster and tell him to wait there until the end of the war. After all, who would imagine that a homeless dumpster child would be the master of a servant in a Holy Grail war?

Still, as tempting as it was to abandon him, Mordred knew that that wasn't the correct choice in the matter. Even though she despised the weak, she knew that she would need to be stronger in order to claim the throne of her father. Simply killing him would not do if she could not rightfully claim the throne in front of him and the world. No, she had to be worthy of the throne – and she would be by the end of this grail war. Her wish would prove it.

But she didn't have to like her master. He would have to know his true place in this war.

"At least I won't run into mana issues." She said aloud as she dematerialized her blade and armor. Truly, this would be a difficult task, but if she couldn't babysit a brat while winning a war then she didn't deserve her father's recognition.

"Oh what the hell, seriously?"

Mordred blinked in surprise as she looked over her body that had been exposed by hiding her armor. Apparently her legend hadn't bothered to include a set of clothing beneath her armor because she was now standing completely nude in all of her slender body's grandeur.

With a hand moving to palm her forehead in annoyance, Mordred turned to the dead body of Petunia Dursley and looked it over. The woman's unseeing eyes stared back wordlessly in horror at servant Saber as she measured the corpse mentally and weighed in on the options before her.

"I do hope that you have something less gawdy. I really don't want to wear a flower pattern dress outside of battle."

XXXXXX

"Kill them all! Berserker, leave no one alive!"

The mad witch's cackling echoed in the halls as Bellatrix Lestrange followed her mad servant's path of carnage. Mere moments ago she had whispered the words of Gilgamesh's summoning ritual and brought forth a fittingly powerful servant to her call. And now, as she followed Berserker's destruction through the island prison of Azkaban.

It was fascinating to watch the dementors that had plagued her for years fall beneath the mighty blows of her servant. No longer would they drain the happiness from her mind, instead they were killed beneath Berserker's makeshift weapon.

They were killed! Her mighty berserker was truly the strongest servant of them all. He had killed the unkillable dementors! It was a feat that was supposed to be impossible and yet he was doing so with great ease using only a rusted pipe that had warped into pure blackness.

With him, Bellatrix Lestrange knew that she would win the holy grail war. Then she would use the power of the grail to return her dark lord to life. He would shower her with unimaginable gratitude and give her unfathomable power. She would be his eternal servant.

But first, there was one thing she needed to do. Well, one thing aside from killing as many dementors as possible – they deserved their deaths. Killing them and listening to their screams of horror was fun.

"Sirius, brother, I've heard you're in here…" she singsonged as her berserker stopped at the heavy wooden door that belonged to the only prisoner that was more infamous than she was. They said that he had betrayed the Potters to the dark lord, but Bellatrix Lestrange knew better. She knew that Sirius Black was truly innocent and would never follow lord Voldemort.

And he was incarcerated right in front of her, with only a pathetic wooden door protecting him from Berserker.

Gilgamesh had warned them to keep the knowledge about the servants a secret, but one murder wouldn't change anything. Besides, dead men tell no tales.

"Kill him berserker!" she ordered aloud as she pointed to the door. Not a second later did the barrier shatter beneath his club. Sirius Black would very soon be dead and Bellatrix would present his head as a present to her master when she returned him to life. So lost was she in the anticipation of her berserker ripping Sirius's spine out that it took her far too long to realize that there was no reason to even bother attempting to kill her brother.

…There was no one in the cell.

XXXXXX

"I ask of you… Are you my master?"

Harry stared in wonder as he looked upon his servant with amazement. He had barely recovered from his out of body experience with Gilgamesh when his knightly servant Saber had called upon him. He had just managed to get up into a kneeling position when his attention was turned onto his knight.

The image would be something that was forever burned into his mind – never could he forget it, no matter how hard he would try.

The hall lights weren't the best in the world, but they illuminated his servant well enough. He could clearly see the radiance and glory in his Saber while his servant stood straight at attention. His sword was loosely held in his right hand; the large blade idly touching the group with its tip while being angled downwards in a loose and careless grip. His armor combined both brilliant silvers and dazzling reds, with silk-like cloth covering his frame wherever his glorious steel armor was not present. The suit itself was massive, easily entombing him in a fierce visage; and yet Saber did not look encumbered by the armor at all, as though he was both used to carrying his armor and comfortable in the shell.

And his helmet… The large mask of heavy steel was crafted into an intimidating visage, as though it was the face of a demon. It was fierce and just looking at it puzzled Harry's mind. And it was held carelessly in his servant's left hand against his massive hip plates.

His servant's face was, for lack of any other suitable explanation, beautiful. He had the most beautiful hair of perfect blond that crowned his head in a combination of a braid and a tail. His emerald green eyes both radiated unrivaled confidence and burned with an underlying rage. Further, his lips were held in a neutral yet disapproving manner, as though to say that his servant was silently judging him and finding him unworthy.

And yet, there was something slightly off about servant Saber that he couldn't place his finger on. Something was missing.

"I ask of you, are you my master?" his knight asked once more, all the while staring at him angrily, as though to question why it was taking Harry so long to respond. Both servant and master knew their role and the identity of their other, yet this question was simply a formality that had to take place.

And his servant hated it.

But his servant's voice did not match the armor. It was just ever so slightly higher pitched than was masculine. It sounded feminine, if ever so slightly, and when Harry combined it with Saber's facial features he was struck with an odd notion.

"I am your master." asked Harry innocently enough as he found his voice and the courage to speak. "Are you a girl?"

Harry wasn't prepared for the response.

The amount of killing intent that saturated the air was nothing that Harry would ever forget either. It had been one thing to watch as his Saber had levied it against his uncle, but experiencing the full brunt of it being directed straight at him was completely different.

It was terrifying and, for it to come from his own servant, deeply confusing.

"My gender doesn't matter." replied Saber with a low threat, her expression morphing into a mask of hate and disdain. Harry could feel her anger at the question, it terrified him to the point of nearly peeing his pants, but he did not understand why she was so angry at him. Perhaps, had he been older and wiser, Harry might have dropped the subject immediately. Instead, his childish naivety got the better of him.

"But you're so beautiful, why would you hide who you are?"

His servant sputtered in surprise for a split second before returning to anger. "Do not question me!" she barked out, half shouting in indignation and rage. The killing intent saturating the air doubled in strength and then doubled again, dousing Harry with a dread that defied any reasoning. "I am only here because of this Grail War! Do not assume that just because you are my master that I will allow you to insult me! The only reason I'm here is because I had no choice but to answer your summoning!"

Mordred wasn't prepared for her master's answer.

"I… I thought you would love me… I prayed for someone to love me… My wish didn't come true…" He replied sadly with a despondent look; tears fighting their way to the surface of his eyes. Although they were emerald green like hers, his eyes contained fear and confusion and despair. "If you don't want to be here, then just kill me like you did uncle Vernon."

With those words, Harry turned his back to Mordred. He slowly fought through the terror that was Mordred's killing intent and crawled back to his room in the cupboard beneath the stairs and tried to make himself as small as possible. He didn't even bother to close the door that had been ripped from its hinges, instead simply curling into a ball and laying his head against the wall.

Then, ever so slowly, tears began to flow as Harry Potter devolved into a sobbing and crying mess.

Mordred stared at the boy she had just verbally lashed out at. Her master truly did not know his limits, blindly questioning matters best left unsaid. He deserved the words that she had dealt upon him. And yet, as Mordred watched her master cry in a truly pathetic scene, she felt disgusted with herself. He was a liability of a master and she would be forced to carry him through the grail war that he did not understand; but his declaration had stunned her. Perhaps it was the way he said it, but his words cut into her far deeper than any blade.

" _If you don't want to be here then just kill me like you did uncle Vernon."_

In his heart he had hoped that Mordred would love him, despite him doing nothing to deserve that love. And when she had crushed that notion his heart exploded into agony at the crushed dream. Mordred had mercilessly stomped it beneath her boot heel without mercy or restraint, much like her own father had done to her. Except, instead of her father's apathy and lack of emotions, Mordred had terrorized her master and scarred him deeply.

" _Father, do you truly despise me? Is it because I am the son of Morgan?"_

How similar was she to her father, really? How devastated had she been when King Arthur had rejected her? How sad had she been before she had grown into rage?

"Boy…" she started before pausing to find the proper words. Hesitation was in her voice, for she still did not know her master's name.

"Go away."

His voice was so hurt, just as she had been.

At that moment, Alaya's words echoed in her mind as she watched her pitiful master cry. " _Grant his wish and I shall grant you yours. Fail and I shall cast you down from the throne of heroes permanently."_

For the second time in a moment, hesitation filled Mordred as she realized the true gravity of the situation in front of her. In anger, Mordred had chastised her master and likely condemned herself to oblivion. She had been so caught up in the potential of this Holy Grail War that she had immediately forgotten about the true reason behind her being chosen for this war. It was his master's wish for someone to love him and she had cruelly quashed his dreams with reckless abandon because she had been too heavily focused on fighting the upcoming war. This was a test from Alaya, to prove once and for all that Mordred was really worthy of the throne by providing something that her father could not.

She had failed miserably.

"… Master…" she called out once more. Her voice was soft; sorrow and regret erasing any semblance of her original pride. If there was any hope of salvaging this situation then she had to truly tread carefully. Her own dream would die if she did not.

"Go… Away…"

Mordred's back stiffened as disbelief and horror dawned on her face. A strong magical compulsion fell upon her as she found herself immediately turning for the front door of the house. No matter how much she struggled to turn back to her master, all she could do was pause her own movement briefly.

Harry's order was absolute. He had used a command seal on her.

"As you wish… Master…"

Taking no grace in her actions, Mordred found that she couldn't even look towards her despondent master. The command seal forced her away from him and, at least for now, ended her attempts at recovering the situation.

As Mordred returned her helmet to her head, she could feel the upcoming oblivion.

XXXXXX

This couldn't be happening again. Not here, not now. Not after all that it had already taken from her. Not after all that she had lost. The Holy Grail War was nothing more than a facade for endless destruction, and it seemed that the cursed war would follow her no matter how far she ran.

Was Alaya toying with her?

Was the will of humanity holding a grudge against her? Was it because she was a survivor of a failed Grail War?

For the third time in so many days, Rin Tohsaka felt truly defeated. It had only been a year since her world had been lost, and it had taken everything away from her. For her to be chosen by Gilgamesh to participate in yet another war was crushing.

In many ways, her life had been defined by the Grail War. More accurately, her life had been defined by what the Grail War had taken away. Her parents had both perished in the fourth Grail War, her father assassinated by another competitor and her mother had been an innocent victim of the violence. Her sister had been turned into a cursed font of evil in the fifth Grail war. Her only real friend had been killed trying to stop the end of the world that the war had created.

In the end, only Rin's knowledge of the kaleidoscope and a selfless sacrifice had saved her own life, although it had resulted in the end of the world. She was a refugee in a world without magic; she was the only magus in a world that could not have possibly had magic. She was truly alone.

And the world had still decided to kick her when she was down.

"Are you still dwelling on the war's announcement? This isn't like you." came a voice from beside her, surprising her and making her bumble her tea cup in her hands. It spilled slightly, tipping a lukewarm liquid onto her hands that she was supposed to be drinking.

How far gone was Rin lost in her thoughts that she had completely lost sight of the world around her?

Sighing deeply as she set the tea cup down in its plastic saucer, Rin turned to the servant beside her. "How do you do it Archer?" she asked, a faint but hopeless smile on her face, "How can you keep going on like this, when this Grail War seems to be all that our lives are capable of doing?"

The heroic spirit that was Archer simply smirked a true grin as he projected a chair out of thin air and sat down at the table next to Rin. "I keep going on because it is my only hope." He replied, "I continue to move forward because it is my only option. Although I must profess that it is a refreshing change of pace to be summoned into a war that I can actually win without destroying the world."

Rin smiled as she digested Archer's words. Just like her friend Shirou Emiya, Archer continued to move on because he refused to quit. Even though his ideals were not Shirou Emiya's ideals, Archer nevertheless reminded her of him. It was his resolve and his determination to see his goal to the end that were truly remarkably similar.

Fitting, considering that Archer was the same counter guardian that she had summoned as her servant in the fifth grail was. Archer referred to his class, his real name was Shirou Emiya – even though he wasn't her Shirou Emiya but rather a different version of him from an alternate timeline.

"I guess you're right." Rin sighed out as she smiled back at Archer. It was shaky, but Archer had somehow managed to relight the fire in her eyes that had been dwindling over the past few days. "I'm glad to have you back. I did miss you."

Archer simply laughed and immediately spoke back, "No you didn't, don't lie."

"Hey! What happened to the nice Archer, where did he go and where did you come from?"

"Please Rin, don't fool yourself. I'm only nice because it's not fun to play with a broken toy."

"Archer!"

Archer smiled and laughed heartily as Rin's face turned red. Then he ducked the tepid cup of tea that had been playfully thrown in his direction.

"You know that I'm not going to clean that up." he commented as his smile devolved into his more common face of stoicism. "You aren't my master for this war, you haven't even summoned your servant yet."

Rin sighed once more, all sense of humor draining from her as she thought over Archer's words. It was true that this time she hadn't been the person to summon Archer for the war. This time, Archer belonged to the person that she shared her pathetically small apartment with. Even if Rin wanted Archer as a servant, which she did, it didn't really matter because he had been summoned less than fifteen minutes after Gilgamesh's announcement.

Without hesitation.

Not that Rin blamed her roommate, the girl had been inconsolable for the last year ever since they had arrived in this world. It was equal parts endearing and sad that Illya Emiya had used one of her brother's few remaining pictures as a catalyst to summon Archer immediately. Truly the little girl - who was older than Rin was - had missed her big little brother who had died to protect her.

"I know I don't have a servant yet, I just haven't found a good catalyst yet."

"You haven't even looked for a catalyst."

"Shut up, I'm still trying to decide on a hero."

"Oh, and do you have any ideas for someone?"

"Maybe Lancer from the last war, he was pretty strong. On the other hand, Saber would also be amazing. Between either of them and you, we could probably win this war handily"

"I don't think you should try to summon King Arthur. Something tells me that it's impossible and, besides, I don't want Gilgamesh getting the hots for her. This war is already complicated enough. I do like the idea of Cu Chulainn, though, but he and I have never gotten along. Ever."

* * *

 **Author Notes:** Yeah, I'm doing it again, I'm starting a story. This time I'm taking up my own challenge as a test of my writing abilities.

I know I have some trouble finishing them but this one is different, I swear! I actually have the outline written out and I know exactly where I'm going with this one (much like my only other completed story). Relative to The Spiral of Descent, this story is probably going to be about 1.5-2 times as long. No promises on speedy updates, but that's life :P

Anyways, I'm setting the stage for what is to come with this chapter, so there's a lot going on here. You can check my profile for the stats of the revealed servants or shoot a review/pm if you have any questions. I haven't revealed most of the heroic spirits but there's only one OC (and even then, it's not that much of a stretch - he's not really an OC); the rest are from a mix of Fate Stay Night, Fate Zero, and Fate Apocrypha.

Before I get any comments about Gilgamesh being in here as a ruler, it's because without him there really isn't anyone to explain the rules or enforce the war. He sort of takes the place of Kirei Kotomine as the moderator of this Grail War. He may or may not force the other servants into doing some hilarious things.

* * *

Known servants/masters:

Ruler: Gilgamesh - Alaya

Saber: Mordred – Harry Potter

Archer: Counter Guardian Emiya - Illyasviel Emiya

Berserker: ? – Bellatrix Lestrange

Unsummoned – Rin Tohsaka

Four unsummoned servants, three unknown masters.


	2. Really Bad Day

Harry Potter and the Blood of Arthur, Chapter 2

* * *

Silence reigned over the house where tragedy had struck. Only the very faint breathing of a young Harry Potter could be heard as he sat and stared out of his room in the cupboard under the stairs. The hall lights were still on, although the setting sun was currently overpowering them, casting a strange and lopsided shadow across the house that was both serene and demented in the same morbid fashion.

His servant had complied with his command seal, even though Harry hadn't been aware that he had used it until far after servant Saber had departed silently from the front door. It had left him alone to deal with the aftermath of its actions, regardless of the fact that Harry really had no idea what to do.

Directly in front of him rested the brutalized corpse of Uncle Vernon. Harry could see the look of horror on Vernon's face as his upper torso rested halfway into the wall. Harry could see Vernon's internal organs as they hung from the opening in his body; his lower body was resting on the floor, having fallen over due to gravity at some point in the recent past. Harry could see Vernon's blood pooling around him, draining from his corpse and soaking the walls and carpet.

Harry could smell the blood as it collected around the man's body. It was very visceral and the scent made him want to vomit.

How could he have done this? All Harry Potter wanted was someone to love him. His servant was supposed to have loved him. His servant was supposed to be a kind and noble Heroic Spirit. His spirit was supposed to have protected him.

How could his wish have gone so wrong?

While Harry didn't really like his relatives, they didn't really deserve death. The Dursleys didn't deserve to die - he knew that his aunt and cousin were dead from the complete silence in the house. If they had still been alive, he would have heard them. There was only silence in the house, though, and Harry knew that they had been slaughtered without mercy just like Vernon had died.

Between the guilt of causing their deaths and the fear of seeing how badly they had been killed, Harry hadn't summoned the courage to go find them.

And then there was his servant. He had brought servant Saber into this world with his wish expecting such great things. He hadn't expected it to be such a monster. It had the face of a beautiful girl, and yet it was so cruel and mean. The killing intent that it had washed over Harry could still be felt in his bones.

It had threatened to kill him, so he had sent it away with a command seal. A part of him knew that the seals were an important tool in the upcoming war - a war that he didn't want to participate in - but that part was silenced by the rest of his mind saying that he simply did not care about wasting the seal. It had been terrifying, it had been horrible. It had been a monster in knight's clothing.

He could still see its stats in his mind, servant Saber had been amazingly powerful. But for all of that power and strength, it had only contained anger and rage. He had used the summoning ritual without a catalyst on purpose, hoping to bring forth a hero that resonated with him in similarity.

But why had he summoned a hateful monster? How was it in any way similar to him?

His seven year old mind absently mulled over those thoughts as he continued to watch the corpse of his uncle rot. Everything was still numb as he sat in silence, trying to understand things that no seven year old boy should ever have needed to understand. It was all so confusing, so strange, so unexpected.

How was he in any way similar to his servant? Would he become just like his servant? Was it a warning fro-

Harry's thoughts were interrupted by the squelch of Vernon's stomach finally losing its battle against gravity and falling to the ground. It landed with a dull thud and bounced ever so slightly while throwing up a small wave of blood.

Harry vomited.

XXXXXX

The sun was setting on the Isles of Britain as a lone figure raced down the coast.

She wore a small red and white tube top with a pair of long jeans cut off at the knees and a long sleeved red jacket covered most of her upper arms and chest. The clothing had been shoplifted from an outlet store a hundred kilometers away.

She was riding on a brand new Harley Davidson motorcycle that hadn't even been driven more than a dozen kilometers before today. It handled well thanks to her B-rank riding skill, and she expertly weaved in between traffic on the highways while avoiding countless collisions with near misses. The bike had been stolen right out of the dealership parking lot.

Mordred was so pissed off that not even the thrill of speed and the wind cutting against her face could sooth her mood. The wind tossed her hair and shook it loose from her braided tail, but that didn't matter. She had never really cared about her own appearance, but that was beside the point. If she was to be perfectly honest with herself, Mordred had only herself to blame for this situation.

"PULL OVER YOUR MOTOR VEHICLE AND SURRENDER IMMEDIATELY!"

"GO TO HELL YOU BASTARDS!"

Mordred weaved around traffic as the British Police followed her in a desperate chase. They had been following her for the last thirty minutes or so, ever since they had attempted to pull her over for speeding and driving in the wrong lane. Naturally, she had ignored them, and now there were four cop cars chasing her. It wasn't like she could just stop, though, servant Saber didn't have any form of registration and she was driving a stolen vehicle.

In all honesty, she really wasn't paying much attention to them.

She had forgotten about the true meaning of Alaya creating the Holy Grail War and had royally screwed up. Somehow Mordred had been chosen by Alaya to love and protect her master. She was supposed to have done that, but she didn't. In all fairness, however, Mordred didn't find it quite fair of Alaya to have given her such a task that she was ill-equipped for. There were countless other heroes that would have done the job better; hell, she could name about a half dozen of them right off the top of her head.

And yet, the task had fallen upon her. Her!

Now, Mordred was normally extremely confident to the point of arrogance; after all she was the destined king of the Britons and by winning the Holy Grail she was going to prove that. But even she had to admit that loving her master wasn't something she was qualified for. A part of her wanted to spit in Alaya's face, for it was becoming increasingly obvious that the goddess of the will of humanity had purposefully set her up to fail. Another larger part of her wanted to rip Alaya's face off with her gauntlets before throwing it to the wolves.

"PULL OVER YOUR VEHICLE!" blared the voice of an officer as his vehicle pulled in front of Mordred and attempted to pen her inside of a trap. There were currently vehicles on all sides of her in a tight formation, with the screaming officer's vehicle forming a square around her. For the normal person, it was a good trap that would force them off the road.

But Mordred wasn't exactly a normal person. "I TOLD YOU TO GO TO HELL!" she replied angrily, shouting into the wind as she taunted the police officers. As much as she wanted to pull out her noble phantasm and slice the cars up, the act of doing so would reveal her extra-human abilities and that was something she needed to avoid doing.

Instead, she did the next best thing.

She took her hands off the handles and hoisted the two finger salute with both hands to the cop cars surrounding her.

With her hand off the gas throttle, Mordred's motorcycle quickly lost momentum that the larger vehicles penning her in were unable to match, but the car directly behind her wasn't able to move out of the way in time. Fortunately, crashing the vehicles was never a part of Mordred's plan. Instead of colliding with the incoming vehicle she grabbed one handle and twisted it before kicking the ground angrily and forcing a pulse of prana into the ground.

Her motorcycle rocketed a dozen feet into the air, narrowly avoiding a disastrous crash by inches as the formation of cops continued on their way down the highway. She could just feel their confusion as she twisted the motorcycle in the air, spinning in a fantastic spiral that only an expert could hope to achieve. The night air was refreshing as it bit into her face, the stunt drawing a sadistic grin from her face.

The only way this could get better was if she had actually killed those cops. But that would probably draw a little too much unwanted attention, so she would have to make due with simply leading them on a wild chase.

Her motorcycle slammed onto the ground, with Mordred planting her feet on the earth to kill momentum. The asphalt tore into her shoes and decimated the rubber bottoms but nevertheless stopped her motorcycle in short order. The cop cars that had been chasing her were still trying to turn around, and she was facing the other direction.

Exactly as planned.

Mordred smiled ferally gunned the engine and left the police in the dust. She was getting nowhere by feeling bad for herself, it was time to cut loose and just let the thrill of battle take over once again. These cops were starting to piss her off, so she was going to make their lives a living hell. If they could keep up with her, then maybe they would be able to provide her with a little entertainment.

The night was young; it was time to live a little.

XXXXXX

Sleep that night hadn't come easily. After losing what little contents his stomach had, Harry had decided it was time to leave the house. He didn't know where he could go, but he knew he had to leave. If he stayed there, watching Vernon decay, he would have lost his mind. Witnessing the sight of his dead relatives had been traumatizing enough, but he had to numb his self to the horror and force his body to action. The sights and smell were too much for him to bear.

So he fled out the front door, only to realize that he had no place to go.

Harry had thought long and hard about what to do and he was sure that the neighbors had witnessed him just standing there on the sidewalk as the sun set deep on the western horizon. He couldn't go to anyone because they would ask questions about his relatives. Even if Harry didn't answer, they would just raise concerns and then call the cops anyways. Eventually they would find out what his servant had done and then they would try to stop it.

Then they would die and spread information about the Holy Grail War - a war he did not want to participate in; he had seen enough killing already - and then Ruler would have to step in in order to keep the war a secret. And doing so would involve even more deaths.

So, determined to not get any more people killed as he still blamed his self about his relatives, Harry Potter decided to stay put. Granted that he wasn't staying in the house anymore, not with the corpses that were starting to stink, but rather he was camped out in the large trunk of Uncle Vernon's Volkswagen Rabbit. He had pilfered some spare sheets and blankets from the linen closet and some food from the kitchen before borrowing the keys from Aunt Petunia's purse and making due as best he could.

All the while he had been careful that no one was watching; as that would raise questions and right now questions were a very bad thing.

He had no clue what he was going to do in the future, but at the moment that didn't matter. His servant was loose on the world, the Holy Grail war would be starting soon, and he was probably going to die in the next few weeks, but he did his best to clear his mind and go to sleep.

That night he dreamed.

He saw her, not it, as she was a young girl before she had been twisted so badly by life.

The images came in fragments and portrayed far more about Servant Saber than Harry had ever really thought could have existed.

She was so lonely, just like he was. Her mother raised her in secret and called her Mordred, forcing her to grow up so quickly. She aged rapidly, in a literal and figurative sense, gaining years when other children stayed small, all the while being forced to train relentlessly with her mother's goal of taking over the throne from King Arthur. Her mother said it was Mordred's destiny, and she had believed her. One day she would rule Camelot, if only for her mother's sake.

She derived no joy from her mother or her training, but Morgan had instilled the notion of ruling the kingdom into her head. From her very first coherent thoughts, there was no other destiny for the girl. She would one day rule instead of King Arthur.

Mordred was a freak, just like Harry…

… Except, instead of being called a freak by others, Mordred knew deep in her heart that she was a wretched person. Where the Dursleys had tormented Harry, Mordred's own heart tormented her.

Mordred grew far quicker than was normal. At the age of two she had the body of an eight year old, and at the age of three she had entered puberty. She barely understood human concepts while being forced to relentlessly study swordsmanship with her freakish body. She wanted to go out and play like the other children, but was forced to study and learn. She wanted to be a kid, but was forced to grow up all too soon. She wanted to be loved by her mother, even though she couldn't understand the concept of what love was. Morgan had never been a touchy feely person.

She was miserable, just like him.

But then Mordred had seen him for the first time. King Arthur had passed by her in the streets as the crowds gathered in reverence. He was beautiful; his reign was fair and just with the best interests of everyone else in mind. The king held himself to an impossible standard that made everyone want to do their very best. He showed no emotion as he crossed through the crowd, but the people loved him.

It was at that moment that Mordred realized for the first time that she wanted to be the king for a reason purely of her own.

Despite her own wretched birth and the fact that she had been born a girl, Mordred wanted to be the king! She wanted to be just like King Arthur when he had passed by; she wanted to be adored by everyone! Even though she had been the daughter of Morgan and had never had a childhood, if she could be perfect like the king then she would be loved like the king. If she could be the perfect king, they would love her like the perfect king.

It was an impossibly high goal, but she wanted it so badly that it hurt. She didn't understand what love was, but the peasants loved the king. They could love her, she could be great. When she shared this revelation with her mother, Morgan gave her a helmet and told her to never take it off before whisking her away to King Arthur's court.

She was on her way to becoming the king. She was so excited!

XXXXXX

The clear sky gave an amazing view over the city and the river Thames as the Archer stood silently next to his master. The two rested in the beautiful London Eye as they slowly rotated around in the ferris wheel. This was the first time that Illya had ever actually ridden in a ferris wheel and Archer had to admit that the experience was rather pleasant as well. Thanks to Illya's condition and clever use of magecraft, the pair had managed to secure a private capsule where they could stay free from outside interruption.

"It's really beautiful isn't it Archer?" asked Illya wistfully as she put her hand against the glass. Outside of the capsule the summertime weather was truly pleasant. It wasn't too hot and it wasn't too cold, with a pleasant breeze that welcomed life outside. From her place next to the window, the wheelchair-bound magus could see the birds in the sky as well as the many humans down below. Some were in boats on the water, others were in cars along the roads, and still more were resting and enjoying life at the many cafes alongside the river.

"Of course it is master." replied Archer softly, his hands firmly resting on the back handles of Illya's purple and white wheelchair. "And one day after this war, we'll be able to see the rest of the sights that this country has to offer."

"I told you not to call me master." her tone was sadly subdued, a byproduct of the fact that her body was not meant to last much longer. Unless she won the grail war, Illya Emiya would be dead before the next Christmas.

"But you haven't used a command seal yet." replied Archer with a soft chuckle.

While he may have come off as an asshole, Archer was doing his absolute best to cheer his adopted sister up. Even though they came from different dimensions, he could still feel the bonds that he had made and later forsaken with this girl. Her life was tragic, doomed to death no matter what destiny could offer, because she had been the lesser grail in the Fifth Holy Grail War.

Her body contained a massive amount of prana, a byproduct of the endless experimentation done upon her by the Einzbern family. It made her one of the most powerful maguses in her old universe, but it also made her life extremely short. It was a terrible fate, but she had been destined to be the lesser Holy Grail, the vessel that contained the souls of the heroic spirits when they died. Then, once six of the seven heroic spirits were contained within her, she was to be consumed and sacrificed in order to summon the greater Holy Grail into the world.

Even if that didn't happen, her body would still fail early into her life because of all the experimentation done upon her. She just wasn't meant to last.

That was the case here. Illya Emiya would soon die as her body failed her.

"I'd like to think that I don't need to use a command seal to get my brother to behave." she spoke, chiding him with a small smile on her lips. It was barely noticeable, but for Archer it was a start.

No matter what world he had been summoned to, no matter how many Grail Wars he had fought in, watching his adoptive sister die had always been painful.

But this time he would set things right. He would win the Holy Grail War set up by Alaya and then he would wish for new bodies for the both of them. They would get their new bodies and be freed from the terrible destiny that awaited them. More so than any other time, Archer new that he could not fail this time.

"Well, you'll never know unless you actually use it master."

"Hmm, I'd still rather not find out that way. I'll tame you eventually."

"You will try, and you will fail."

Yes, this time Archer would win the Holy Grail War. Unlike the countless other times he truly had a chance to win. This grail wasn't cursed and Alaya herself had created it. For the first time in he didn't know how long, Archer was filled with hope at the prospect that he might just be able to win. And with Illya as his master, regardless of her failing health, counter guardian Emiya would win.

No matter what, he would win. They would be free from their destiny.

Even if he had to rip the command seals off Gilgamesh's arms and use them to kill every other combatant in this war. There was no bridge too far. There was no measure that he would not take.

No matter what, counter guardian Emiya would win this Holy Grail War.

But something nagged him in the back of his mind. Why would Alaya be setting up a Holy Grail War?

It simply made no sense. The true purpose of a war was to open up a path to the Akashic Records – the root of all human knowledge that had been, was currently, and could quite possibly be. As a counter guardian in the employment of Alaya it was his duty to ensure that no one ever touched that information because there was no telling what a human could do with it. Further, the Grail War was a creation of humans and not Alaya. Especially in this world, a world without maguses, there really should not have been anyone outside of Rin and Illya who could be a suitable master.

Rin had been certain; there were no other maguses in this world.

While he would not look a gift horse in the mouth, he was definitely planning on winning this war, the fact still remained that Archer did not know why this war was taking place. Alaya had to have some hidden motive for doing this, but what was that motive?

And why did he get the feeling that discovering that motive would fill him with hate?

"Archer, you're zoning out again."

The white haired counter guardian blinked in surprise, only to find that their capsule had made a full rotation and was now reaching the exit and entrance point.

"Right, of course. I'm sorry master."

With that he unlocked the wheels of Illya's chair and began moving her off the London Eye. Rin would be waiting for them back in the hotel lobby. After their short detour they would begin looking for a suitable catalyst for the only Tohsaka in this universe.

XXXXXX

How long had he been asleep?

The afternoon sun shined through the only window in the Dursleys' garage and illuminated Harry Potter's face inside of the family car. He knew it was afternoon because the window faced the west and the sun was shining through it, but that knowledge didn't do much for Harry seeing as he was still wondering why he had slept so long.

Rubbing the crust from his eyes, Harry came to the startling realization that he had been sleeping in the Dursleys' car. But why had he been-

Oh, right. Last night hadn't been a dream.

Well, there had been a dream. He could still remember it vividly. But that was beside the point.

The fact of the matter was that the Dursleys were dead and Harry Potter was a master in a Holy Grail War.

"Great, just great…" he muttered to himself as he absently fished around his makeshift bed for his glasses. After finding them on the floor and restoring them to their rightful place, Harry sat up and looked out the window hopelessly. "I guess uncle Vernon was right; there's nothing good about magic."

How was he supposed to fight in this war? He was seven for Christ's sake. All he had wanted was to have someone who loved him and now he had to fight in an extremely deadly war. All he wanted was to have someone who loved him and yesterday he had inadvertently killed his only living relatives. Well, he hadn't killed them, but rather his servant Mordred had done them in.

His servant wasn't exactly a monster but she was pretty scary and it didn't seem like she even wanted to like him. Then again, he couldn't really blame her. He had seen fragments of her life in the dream, even though he didn't understand why he had had that dream. It told him far more about her than he would have thought to ask, and yet it gave him even more questions.

Mordred had just wanted to be loved. What could have turned her into such a force of anger and hate?

"Master…"

Harry froze as his eyes went as wide as dinner plates. No way she could be here. He had wasted a command seal last night telling her to go away. WHAT WAS SHE DOING HERE?!

"Master, please talk to me."

Ever so slowly, Harry turned his face around to the corner of the garage that he hadn't looked at. His servant Mordred was in the corner, leaning against a motorcycle, and dressed in clothing far different from the armor that she had been dressed in last night. Rather than the amazing plate mail that had covered her, she was dressed in rather skimpy clothing that revealed a large amount of skin. Her armor wasn't anywhere, and again Harry could see her face.

Instead of being confident, she looked unsure of herself. There was no anger, just hesitation. It was strange and off-putting, but it didn't scare him quite like her killing intent last night had.

Finding his voice, Harry questioned his servant. "How did you get in here?"

"Your command was to go away. I came back once it wore off."

"Oh."

Silence filled the room as neither spoke for the longest time. Harry was unsure of what to say, Mordred unsure of how to say her words. Outside the sounds of summer could be heard, with the birds singing and the occasional car passing by on the street outside. Inside the garage, however, the tension could be cut with a knife.

It was a very forced situation, but finally Mordred spoke to break the silence.

"I know I didn't make a good first impression master," she said with a clear hesitance visible on her face, "Regardless, I would like to apologize for my actions last night. They were unwarranted and have forced you to waste a command seal."

Harry was stunned by her admission, but he nevertheless mulled over the right words to say. This was completely different from the way Mordred had acted last night, and this was the third distinctly different way that he had witnessed her act. Now, Harry might have only been seven years old, but he was old enough to know that that wasn't right – it felt forced.

Despite his confusion, though, he could see that Mordred was at least trying to make amends for her actions. "I guess it's okay…" he replied after the longest pause, "just promise me that you won't try and kill me again."

Mordred's hesitation broke into a small smirk, "I was never planning on killing you. I was just showing you your place."

"That's not funny." countered Harry immediately, a small frown on his face.

Mordred looked away quickly, "Right. Sorry. It won't happen again." she replied as she absently stared at the ground.

Once again the garage settled into a silence. This time, however, the silence was a little less hard; a little more comfortable.

Once again, Mordred broke it.

"You know, we never did that whole ritual finalization thing. I guess it's kind of obvious that you're my master, though."

"My name is Harry Potter," replied Harry with a soft smile, "I am your master, Mordred."

Mordred blinked in confusion, and then frowned angrily. "How the hell do you know my name?" she asked, her ire simmering just beneath the surface as her eyes narrowed and stared down Harry.

Harry winced at her statement; all the good will that they had created was shattered in an instant. He could feel her rage and it scared him. Of course he wasn't supposed to know her name; after all she didn't know his name until just now when he had given it to her. Only, she hadn't given him her name in return. Harry had sort of just revealed the fact that he knew who she was without asking for it.

Oh man, he was going to be in so much trouble with his heroic spirit.

"Master… I'm not mad at you, I'm just mad." replied Mordred quickly. She was quick to clarify the situation, even though she was only partially telling the truth. Harry hadn't used a catalyst to summon her so he shouldn't have known her true name. There was something that he had done without her knowledge and saying her name so casually was a rather big slip. It would be a massive disadvantage if another servant was to know her name and Harry had just blatantly shown that he didn't know to keep that fact a secret. "A servant's name is a big deal and the fact that you know my name without me telling you is very disheartening. If another servant were to figure out my name then it would be a strong disadvantage for me. Now tell me how you know my name."

He replied hesitantly, still fearful of Mordred's wrath. Swallowing hard, he replied, "I… I saw it in the dream… I'm sorry."

"The dream?"

"I… I went to sleep last night and I saw you in my dreams. I wasn't trying to look into your past I swear!"

Mordred's expression flashed pure confusion for a split second before she closed her eyes and clenched her fist. Of course there would be some bullshit reason that would give her master insight into her past. Alaya just really loved fucking with her, didn't she. Of course the detail was there; Alaya just didn't care that a seven year old would be violating her secrets.

The master-servant link that the two shared allowed them to see each other's pasts.

So, not only was she stuck protecting a brat that just wanted her to love him, but said brat also had the privilege of watching her private history whenever he slept. It was an insult to her dignity! Between having to fight other servants in a battle to the death and having to deal with all these bullshit details Mordred really didn't know which side was worse. Regardless, this deal was getting worse all the time and Alaya could go fuck off for all Mordred cared right now.

"Please don't kill me!"

Mordred opened her eyes and stared at her master, Harry Potter. Naturally he would mistake her venting her frustrations for directing anger at him.

Sighing in frustration, Mordred slid back onto the motorcycle that she was leaning against and turned on the engine. "I'm not mad at you master; I'm just really mad right now."

She had replied as calmly as she could possibly have answered. She was incredibly frustrated at this little detail and it wasn't her master's fault. Still, she was very pissed off and staying here would probably scare her master into using another command seal.

She lifted the garage door with a single hand and wheeled her motorcycle out of the garage, turning to Harry one last time, "I'm going to vent some frustrations, please don't waste another command seal." And with that, she took off. Her motorcycle raced down the driveway before popping a wheelie and drifting onto the street. There was a roar as the machine's engine screamed, and Servant Saber took off down the road.

For the longest time, Harry just stared in wonder and confusion. Only after a few minutes when the garage door automatically closed on its own did Harry's brain reboot enough for him to form a coherent sentence.

"What just happened here?"

XXXXXX

Summer time at the Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry was always an interesting period. Even though the many children that called this place home during the school year were gone, the castle was bustling with countless projects and staff meetings. After all, each year was a bit unique and that meant that the professors and their auxiliary support staff needed to prepare for each year a bit differently.

Today was simply a Tuesday afternoon, and one of many meetings amongst the staff and the Hogwarts board of governors was taking place. In it they would decide the schedule, discuss any curriculum changes, go over logistical funding for food and school supplies, and plan out for any special events.

"Now see here Lucius, I will not allow you to close the school for three weeks! There's simply too much to be done to allow you to mothball the castle for whatever reasons you refuse to talk about!" howled Professor Minerva McGonagall, the professor in charge of transfigurations as well as the head of the Gryffindor table. As the Deputy Headmistress of the school, it was her job to do her best to ensure that the Board of Governors did not simply walk all over them.

"What you think you can do and what you can do are two separate matters Professor McGonagall." replied Lucius Malfoy calmly as he sat and stared at her from the round meeting table. Beside him were a few handpicked governors that agreed with his plans and opposite him sat a number of confused and upset professors. "The fact of the matter remains that the Board of Governors has mandated that the school shut down and evacuated during the month of June for safety purposes."

At the moment, there was a rather heated discussion from several seats of authority. The Board of Governors wanted to shut down the school for a short time and the professors were reasonably upset by this surprise decision. It had come from nowhere, with Lucius Malfoy delivering the surprise mandates just this morning.

"And pray tell why we need to shut down for safety reasons?" shot back the deputy headmistress with a frown. It was completely unreasonable for the board of governors to expect every living and sentient being to pack up and leave on the drop of a hat. Even more strange was the fact that Lucius had made it seem like even the ghosts themselves were to be taken away – even though there was realistically nothing that could harm them.

Lucius simply frowned and palmed his hands together, "I am unfortunately not at liberty to discuss the reasons behind these safety precautions, but rest assured Professor McGonagall that this decision was not made lightly."

"I hardly believe that."

The scion of the Malfoy family sighed deeply, this conversation was wearing heavily on him. He secretly sided with the professors in that this request was unreasonable, and yet the fact of the matter was that a secret war was about to take place inside the halls of this castle. Secrecy was required and Gilgamesh had been abundantly clear that any witnesses that were not participants were to be executed before the knowledge of the Holy Grail could spread.

As much as it irritated him, Lucius knew that he had to clear the castle of all occupants before the war took place. Otherwise there would be too many deaths involving the staff of Hogwarts to silence anyone for long. People would ask questions, and that would only lead to rumors and inquiry.

Two things he could scarcely afford.

The prison break at Azkaban had already been hard enough to suppress. It had taken Lucius Malfoy a significant amount of sway in the Ministry of Magic to silence the government and guards about the escape of both Sirius Black and Bellatrix Lestrange from the prison. Even worse was the fact that there had been several eyewitness reports of a dread knight killing several of the dementors during Bellatrix's prison break.

The obliviations had been expensive.

Thinking hard about his next words, Lucius Malfoy rubbed his right hand over his left before speaking up. "Regardless of what you think, the decision to close the school temporarily is final. All of the staff has until the end of tomorrow evening to vacate the premises until the all clear is given. I trust you'll see to this evacuation Headmaster Dumbledore?"

He knew he was stepping on more than a few toes by changing the focus of his conversation to the Headmaster of the school, but he had already stepped on those toes by mandating the evacuation.

For the most part, the wizened Professor Dumbledore had chosen to remain silent during this meeting. At his place at the head of the table he had opted to sit and listen as Lucius Malfoy expertly navigated through the irate professors. In fact, the legend hadn't spoken at a single sentence other than to announce the meeting was in motion.

Everyone watched as Professor Dumbledore stroked his beard and pondered the order. It was true that it had come out of nowhere but he was far too understanding of the nature of politics to simply dismiss it out of hand. While the declaration of evacuation made no real sense, there had to be some underlying cause behind it. There had to be some secret reason that Lucius Malfoy simply wasn't telling them about.

All eyes were on him as he thought over the situation. The professors were hoping he would refuse the mandate while Lucius was internally sweating bullets and hoping that the old man would just do as he was asked for once in his god damned life.

Finally, he spoke up, "I understand that you are not at liberty to discuss your reasons, Lucius, but will you at least promise me that they are made under good intentions?"

The professors erupted into chaos.

"You can't honestly be allowing thi-" proclaimed Professor McGonagall in a half shout as she slammed her hands on the table, only to be silenced by Dumbledore's own hand motioning for her to stop.

"I understand your concerns Minerva," he replied, softly smiling with a strange twinkle in his eyes, "but I was asking Lucius a question."

Lucius blinked and then nodded in affirmation. "While I cannot tell you the reasons, I give you my oath that this decision was made with the best of intentions for this school."

Professor Dumbledore smiled happily before nodding back to Lucius Malfoy. "Then the staff of Hogwarts shall comply with these orders. We'll make preparations to remove all the staff to the nearby village of Hogsmeade until we receive indication that it is safe to return to the castle."

Again the meeting table erupted into chaos, but for once the rage and confusion was not directed at the head of the Malfoy Family.

XXXXXX

An hour had passed before Lucius had finally managed to escape the meeting table. Evacuating the school was going to be a logistical nightmare but it had to be done before Gilgamesh or any of the other masters go to the school. It would be a disaster otherwise.

As he rested at a private booth at the Hog's Head inn in the nearby village of Hogsmeade, his thoughts drifted back to the upcoming war.

Why in the nine hells had he been chosen as a master?

Lucius Malfoy was many things, but to say that he had regrets or ungrantable wishes was nonsense. He was a successful politician, a wealthy businessman, and he had a respectable pureblood family. There really was nothing more he could ask for, save the stability of not actually having to risk his life in this ridiculous Holy Grail War. The fact of the matter was that there honestly wasn't anything that Lucius Malfoy was willing to stake his life on but, regardless of his own opinion, he had been chosen as a master in this absurd contest.

"Master, I sense you are upset."

The mental voice of his servant touched Lucius's mind, bringing him into silent communication with his servant for the war.

"It's nothing serious," replied Lucius in his mind with a thought. To anyone unaware that he was a master, he was simply frowning while in deep concentration. "You know that I have no wish for this grail."

"And that is why you have summoned the assassin." his servant replied, "You will remain safe as long as no one finds out that you are a master in this war. I shall do all of your fighting for you."

Lucius silently smiled as he perused Assassin's words. Already the master killing servant was stalking the halls of Hogwarts silently and familiarizing himself with all of the greatest hiding spots. No doubt that when this Holy Grail War started in full, there wouldn't be any safe spot from his servant. He had found many unmapped passages and corridors already, and very soon there wouldn't be anywhere that was safe from Assassin.

"You are correct Assassin, I am relying on you."

"Oh how quaint Lucius; here I was about to summon you and to my pleasant surprise I discover that you are also a master in this war."

The wizened Malfoy nearly jumped out of his skin as a voice whispered next to his ear. He recognized that voice anywhere, but the owner of that voice had been dead for nearly a decade. It was impossible, how could he be ali-…

"My dear Lucius, don't panic. It wouldn't do for my pawn to panic. I have big plans for you and panicking won't help in the slightest. In fact, I do believe that I'll need to keep you on a shorter leash, seeing as I don't believe you're quite capable of playing the part. Now, be a good slave and try not to betray me this time."

His blood ran cold as he tried to move but found it impossible to do so. There was simply an incredible pressure against him that had cut off his motor skills and weighed upon his mind like a ton of bricks. It was so hard to think; the voice pressing against his ear was so soothing and comforting. Without words it whispered promises of power and of countless gain.

"Master?!"

The mental scream of servant Assassin snapped the spell upon his mind and gave him an instant of clarity. Two command spells burned away from his hand as he resigned himself to his doom, but he would not go down without a fight.

"Master?! What is going on? Why have you commanded me to...? I understand. I am sorry for your situation."

"IMPERIUS!"

Lucius Malfoy sighed in surrender as he closed his eyes. From this entrapment there could be no escape. Servant caster had already caught him before the war had even begun. Malfoy had prided himself in his ability to use and at least partially resist the imperius curse but, when the Heroic Spirit had used it upon him, he had been taken over completely; as helpless as a beach ball against a raging tsunami. He was one man against a force of nature that had carved its legend upon the throne of heroes despite not belonging there.

He felt his mind going; in moments it would be completely gone. It was strange, as the imperius curse normally gave the victim the clarity of mind to know their actions were not their own. And yet, servant Caster's version was so strong Malfoy couldn't even think anymore.

He was just a single man in a life boat, set about in sea of dread and terror. His only hope rested in his two orders to his servant assassin, but even then he did not hold out hope. There was just a raging storm of despair.

And then nothing.

When he opened his eyes, Lucius Malfoy was no longer there. Instead, servant Caster had made a puppet.

XXXXXX

Gilgamesh sighed wearily as he sat in his booth at the diner. It wasn't that he was physically tired; rather, the problem was that the piss water this country called beer was truly disgusting. He was the king of the entire world and yet all these filthy Britons had to offer him was a sour and bitter malt that had absolutely no redeeming qualities.

That being said, the restaurant he was in had served him the most amazing fried fish and potatoes that he had ever tasted. It was strange to think that frying a cod in a batter alongside some lightly seasoned potato cuttings could bring out such a delectable flavor of while staying light and crispy. The waiter attending to him had called the meal fish and chips but honestly the name did not matter to the king.

Gilgamesh had demanded the best meal that they could serve, and this restaurant had clearly blown away his expectations. Even though it was a cheap meal, by the waiter's own admission, the food was still better than anything that his own royal chefs had ever produced. It was hearty and filling, yet crisp and flavorful. The relative softness of the fish contrasted very well to the crunch of the batter and Gilgamesh could taste strange spices that added a dimension of flavor that had simply not existed when he had first stepped foot on the earth. To combine it with fried potatoes, a delicacy that he hadn't tasted before, that had been lightly salted and seasoned to add yet another dimension of flavor…

If this world served food like this to everyone, commoners or royalty, then clearly this world had progressed in some beautiful ways. Even though the humans all around him were pitifully weak, they had still managed to provide good things to everyone. Individually they did not matter much, but they were all so much more happier now.

It was strange, back when he had been the king, he had ruled over a few people that mattered. Humanity was much smaller but they were much stronger individually. Now there were so many more humans and they were all much weaker.

But they could produce food like this and distribute it to everyone!

Still, the piss water that these filthy Britons called beer was terrible.

"Can't win them all I guess." He mumbled to himself as he pulled a gold brick out of his pocket, secretly removing it from his gate of Babylon, and set it on the table. He was well aware of the fact that the gold he was giving them was worth a thousand times the price of the meal, but he didn't honestly care about that detail. After all, in his time the meal had been fit for a king so it was his duty as the king to properly reward his servants for their offering.

Taking one last look at the beer glass at his table, he simply shook his head in disgust and got up before moving for the door. The beer was only half empty but he simply could not stand the torture of the awful drink. He had to leave, lest he change his mind about the advancements of this civilization and get angry.

He had only been in this world for a day and, outside of the beer, he could honestly say he was impressed with how his humans had grown.

Individually they were weaker but as a whole they were so much happier. People didn't need to fight every day just to survive and, although it moderately irked him, they were fine with being weaker. Legends weren't sprouting up from recent times and in many ways humanity was regressing and becoming much more pathetic than his humans had.

But he had a magnificent golden sports car waiting for him outside the diner. He was wearing a magnificent sports coat and other fine silks. He had just eaten a magnificent meal, sans piss water, and he would soon be heading towards a magnificent skyscraper hotel complete with the magic known as air conditioning where he would sleep on a magnificently comfortable bed.

None of them had come from his gate of Babylon, for all of these fine treasures were not legends but simply commonplace amongst the world. Truly commoners could live like kings. And that, at the very least, made him rather happy to know that humans could progress that far despite all their own regressions.

Gilgamesh had just exited the restaurant when he felt the presence of another servant. It was close, just around the corner, moving moderately fast, and the King was in a fairly good mood.

So he decided to surprise them.

"I wonder just who it could be wandering the streets alone." He mused to himself with a cocky grin. He knew that of the servants had already been summoned, but outside of one he hadn't met any of them.

He stalked up the sidewalk, careful to avoid the foot traffic as he moved confidently. There was nothing for him to fear, for even if he did not have his Gates of Babylon waiting at his beck and call he still had his thirteen command seals. In this war he had been summoned as the ruler and as such he had the privilege of carrying two command seals for each of the seven servants on his arms. With those seals, he could order the servants to do anything he wished, and he had already done so once.

He truly hoped that he wouldn't have to use a command seal. After all, showering a mongrel beneath his Gates of Babylon was an entertaining way of hammering his opinions home.

His target was just a few feet away from him now. Only a brick wall was blocking his view. Whoever this other servant was, it had already sensed him and had tensed briefly. However, seeing as it was the day time and fighting would reveal their presence to the world, the other spirit had made no other actions save the tensing to alert Gilgamesh that it knew he was coming.

Clearly the servant was interested in meeting otherwise it would have fled the scene already.

Turning the corner, Gilgamesh hoisted a confident smile as he prepared to reveal himself to the servant. She was dressed in a simple tube top with a pair of light blue jeans that cut off at the knees and a long sleeved red jacket. Gilgamesh's true-name discernment skill told him that her name was Mordred, all while getting the initial look of her as she sat atop a Harley Davidson motorcycle.

She stared right back at him with a frown before rolling her eyes. If she had been expecting anyone different then her hopes had just been dashed upon the rocks.

"Oh great, it's you again." she muttered in a soft yet irritated and dismissive tone.

Gilgamesh laughed heartily, enjoying her torment. "My my, my dear Mordred is that any way to talk to your king?" he taunted as he raised his hands to his sides and gave an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders. It was a braggart's pose, but he was the king.

Mordred narrowed her eyes angrily, "Gilgamesh, I told you last night that you are not my king."

"Nonsense, I am the king of all!" he replied in a half shout of arrogant confidence, "I am the king of heroes, of this war, and of you! Or did my command last night not drive home that point?"

Mordred gritted her teeth angrily but said nothing. She had been having a wonderful time last night by leading those cops on a chase before Gilgamesh had stepped in and forcibly ended the confrontation beneath a shower of legendary blades. Mordred had almost attacked him the moment he revealed himself, but Gilgamesh's revelation that he was the ruler of this war stilled her blade.

In hindsight, it would have been easier to just try and stab the golden bastard.

"Now now Mordred darling, don't try and pretend that you have no words to say. After all, I do clearly remember that you had no shortage of unkind words to say about your master. If I recall correctly, he was a hopeless child and you didn't quite like Alaya either."

Again, Mordred said nothing.

Sensing her obvious anger, Gilgamesh continued to twist the knife with his words. He had stabbed her, now he was drawing out the obvious rage inside of her. "Tell me, knight of betrayal, have you betrayed your master yet? Or, have you swallowed your pride as a knight and apologized to him, as I have forced you to?"

"I have no response for you." she replied tersely, her anger seething just beneath the surface. As much as she wanted to cut off Gilgamesh's head and put it on a pike Mordred knew that it simply wasn't possible at this time. He still had a command seal to use against her and she knew what would happen if he used it against her.

Rulers were given two command seals for each servant in order to enforce the war. The first was a warning, a call to heel given to order the servant to behave. The second was to execute, the ultimate punishment for someone who did not understand that they had to submit to the rules of the Holy Grail War.

"Oh ho ho," laughed the golden king. He had wounded her pride last night and he would continue to do so, for her haughty attitude was entertaining to watch.

"Tell me, will you still be so resistant when Alaya casts you from the throne of heroes?"

"How the hell do you know that?!"

Mordred was in the air, her blade drawn from the air as she moved to strike down Gilgamesh. The golden king had gone one step too far and revealed knowledge that she was uncomfortable with him knowing. Damn the rules and damn the fact that Gilgamesh had a command seal of power over her, she would make him pay for his transgressions!

With her blade held high, she moved it in a beautiful arc that sang a song of violence and struck down towards Gilgamesh. It came within inches of his face, carrying such great force that it would cut him down in an instant.

Her sword never connected.

"Tut tut, I thought the first seal would get you to behave."

Gilgamesh hadn't moved at all as a dozen legendary blades surged forth from golden portals to stop Mordred's blow. The countless blades connected with a clatter, shaking in the air as Mordred's blade slid down them with great force. Still, the blades had done their job and protected their owner from the attack.

Mordred's attack had failed. Now he had the advantage, her sword was locked amongst the countless noble phantasms Gilgamesh had called forth and he only had to say a few short words.

"Now Mordred," commented Gilgamesh as he watched the girl in front of him seethe in anger, "I don't want to have to use a second command seal on you this early, but I do believe that your actions against me deserve punishment."

"Do your worst," spat Mordred as she stared angrily at the ruler of the war. She was so close to him that if he attempted to use a command seal on her then she would simply move to cut off his hand. It would take him time to spout out the words of the command and she would make every instant count. The fact that her blade was frozen by his defenses didn't matter – she would call upon her noble phantasm at point blank range against him. Her legend was at stake and she could not afford to make any wrong move.

"Oh, you really think that killing you is my worst?" questioned Gilgamesh knowingly, as though he read her mind. It didn't take a genius to understand what Mordred's gambit was and Gilgamesh found it woefully one dimensional. "I don't think that's my worst, do you?

"I don't know, try me."

"Ordering you to kill yourself would be too easy; and too disgraceful for my war."

Gilgamesh frowned quickly before closing his eyes. A split second passed and then he opened them again. Then his frown morphed into a confident smile as he spoke up, "Alaya wants your master to submit to a counter guardian. If you fall, then she'll simply remove your legend and then find another way to get to him. But pray tell, what do you think she would do to you if he were to be struck down by another master while you were attacking me? She wouldn't be able to get her counter guardian."

Mordred's blood froze as she realized what Gilgamesh was playing at, "You wouldn't dare…"

"I just did. Every competing master now knows the location of your master. If they kill him in the next hour, the person who brings me his head will get his remaining command seals as a bounty."

Mordred stared down Gilgamesh with a seething rage. Ruler's confidence betrayed nothing as he crossed his arms. From what Mordred knew of him, Gilgamesh was totally willing to fuck with Alaya and anyone else simply to have a good show of entertainment. He had no reason to lie about that to her.

"Remember, the other masters are wizards, they'll be there in a few minutes."

He would do such a thing, pissing off Alaya, just to spite Mordred.

"This isn't over! I will have your head!" she spat out before materializing her suit of armor and jumping back before climbing onto her motorcycle. With a roar, the engine kicked to life and servant Saber took off down the road. She only had a few moments to get back to her master's house before the other servants arrived.

Gilgamesh could wait, Mordred had to protect her master.

* * *

A/N: So here's chapter two. It's a little loose but I still had fun writing it. This chapter is still building the world and setting the stage for real development and real fighting. Some character development for Harry, Mordred making a mess out of things, and revelations about Archer. Oh yeah, and I went ahead and iced one of the masters already. If you can't guess who servant Caster is then just wait, he'll at least show up a couple times in the story.

As a personal aside, I've always found Mordred's character to be interesting. I really hope that I haven't made her unlikable in this chapter. A large part of that has to do with the fact that I don't feel she handles uncertainty very well - instead resorting to violence pretty quickly. Rest assured that Mordred will see some very real growth before the story is over. HP,&tBoA is as much about her as it is about Harry.

Also, to stave off questions, basically think of this world's Rin and Illya as refugees from a failed Heaven's Feel route.

Extra special thanks to everyone who has reviewed and left comments or questions, as they have helped me refine my storyboard and writing style. There have been a couple good guesses so far in the reviews so I'd like to make a shout of to them as well. Finally, user Gashadokuro Amanojaku has raised a great point in regards to the servant stats page on my profile. Once I reveal all of the servants I'm going to take it down and turn it into an appendix chapter for this story. It'll probably be chapter 3 or chapter 4.

* * *

Q/A time (unanswered questions have been left unanswered for a reason):

Q) How will Harry fight? A) really, _really_ badly. Don't expect much from him. He's only seven and I already had a hard enough time making his reactions feel like a seven year old's reactions.

Q) Who will Rin summon? A) revealed next chapter.

Q) Am I playing with the servant stats? A) A little some are a bit stronger or weaker than canon.

Q) Can I keep it up? A) I sure hope so!

* * *

Anyways, that's all for now. Please leave a review and have a wonderful day.


	3. Opening Salvo

Harry Potter and the Blood of Arthur, chapter 3

* * *

"Attention mongrels, this is your ruler Gilgamesh speaking. It has come to my attention that a master known as Harry Potter is currently hiding at number 4 Privet Drive in Little Whinging, Surrey. He does not want to participate in this war and his servant has repeatedly drawn my ire. As such, I have decided to teach him and his servant a small lesson. In order to reinforce the seriousness of this war as well as my absolute authority over all of you, I am putting a bounty on his head for the next hour or so. If you can kill him and bring me his head then I will give you his remaining command seals. This is not a joke. Get going."

From his place in the back yard, Harry Potter's blood ran cold. The shovel in his hands was held with a grip so tight that his knuckles became as white as the bones in his fingers. He had been digging graves for his relatives as best as he could when the announcement from Gilgamesh had filtered through his ears with a magical tone.

What had he done to deserve this?!

Why had Gilgamesh just put a bounty on his head?!

The gravity of the situation was bearing down upon him with all the weight of the world. Very soon the other masters in this war would be trying to take his head and they would be bringing other servants. Not only that, but he didn't have his own servant with him.

Harry was on his own, and he would probably be dead very soon. He had no way to defend himself. He knew that he had some magical potential but beyond that he had no way of protecting himself. He was just a seven year old boy, without any training of any kind to prepare him for what was about to happen.

"Calm down, calm down…" he told himself quietly as he stared down at the half finished plots of upturned earth. He had only gotten the graves to be a few feet deep but right now that was the least of his worries. Breathing deep, he focused and tried to think of any possible action that he could take.

He could fight, but that would be hilariously one sided. He would be killed as soon as he showed his

face. Mordred wasn't there to protect him.

He could hide, but then the servants would just tear up the property trying to find him. Maybe they wouldn't find him in the allotted time span that Gilgamesh had given them? No, they'd just stick around until they found him. And, if they could somehow sense him, his hiding spot would be useless.

He could try running. But then they would just…

Wait…

He could run!

That's it! He could run! The other masters only knew his name! They didn't know that he was only a seven year old kid and not a full grown adult like he imagined the rest of the masters were. Anyone who came would be looking for someone with magical skills; they would easily glance over him in a heartbeat.

Well, they were still under the general rule of eliminating all witnesses, but that was beside the point. As long as he got one or two houses down and then hid he would be able to pretend that he wasn't the master. He could run and he could hide. It just might work!

There was an ear splitting crack originating from the other side of the house that told him he was too late.

"Oh Potter dear, I've come to kill you!" came the singsonging voice of a woman, shrill and loud and just a little mad. Then, from the other side of the house, there was a terrifying roar of anger.

Anger and rage washed over Harry like a flooded strand in the middle of a deep spring rain. It was overwhelming, the sheer horrible killing intent that saturated the air around him. It made him want to crawl into the graves he had been digging, just so that when he died the other master might grace him with a proper burial.

"No!" thought Harry as he shook off the evil aura, "I've got to hide! I can't die here! I won't die!"

Throwing his shovel to the ground, harry desperately looked around for anywhere nearby that he could escape to. The main house was off limits, as soon there would be an enemy master and servant stalking the halls. Similarly, escaping out the front was impossible as well. Unfortunately there were high fences in the back yard that he wasn't tall enough to climb up; that meant that the only way out of the property was blocked off.

That left the garage and the backyard as potential hiding places.

His search for options was interrupted by a most terrible banging, as though someone was taking a hammer to an old brass bell and striking it far too hard. The banging came rapidly and constantly, with a terrible whine that foretold exactly what would happen to him very shortly.

"Your wards won't protect you forever dear boy, Berserker will kill you very soon." came the taunting voice of the opposing master. Then she started laughing in the most deranged and evil fashion, as though to promise a gruesome and brutal execution.

What wards was she talking about? Harry didn't know anything about magic and, even if he did, he had no clue what a ward was. Yet, all the same this woman was cackling about some magical defense that was keeping her out. Still, Harry wasn't about to look a gift horse in the eye; he had to concentrate and focus. Whatever these wards were, they were buying him precious seconds in which to hide. He had to move!

But where?

XXXXXX

The air rushed past Mordred's helmet as she rode her motorcycle down the road, weaving through traffic in the most haphazard way possible. Time was of the essence and her master would not survive long against another servant. Alaya wanted Harry to live and, by extrapolation, Mordred needed him to fulfill her own dreams.

"Don't you dare die on me…" she thought to herself as she raced through the city like a bat out of hell. With a reckless abandon Mordred pushed her metallic steed to the very limits of its capabilities, roaring down the roads at a breakneck velocity. She had to get there soon or else all was lost. She could not fail here. "…Damn it I need you alive. Don't you dare die on me!"

Ignoring the other cars on the road, Servant Saber rushed through the town with utmost haste. She would not fail here. Not now, and not ever. Not anymore.

XXXXXX

Bellatrix Lestrange laughed maniacally as Berserker struck his makeshift war hammer against the wards of the house. The armored dread knight was using an uprooted mailbox that had been warped to a deep and ominous smoky black with expert precision. Over and over he struck, drawing sparks and sending ripples of energy along the otherwise invisible barrier.

The barrier whined in protest, but it still stubbornly tried to keep her and her servant out.

"This is a pesky barrier, isn't it Berserker?" she absentmindedly questioned aloud. Her servant simply roared in anger and slammed his mailbox against the ward one more time.

Now, wards were something that Bellatrix was used to. After all, every upstanding wizard from any family that knew anything knew about wards. They were the tool of wizards used to keep people out and they usually did a quite good job at that. They could protect against anything from muggles to magical animals to enemy intruders.

Unfortunately for her, it seemed that these wards were of the latter category. It also appeared that these wards were very strong as well, seeing as they were actively resisting Bellatrix. Berserker was smashing against them with all of his might yet, as strained as they were, they refused to break.

Fascinating, considering that berserker had broken through numerous wards already during their escape from Azkaban.

Actually, now that she took the time to feel for the wards over the property, it appeared that there were two separate layers of wards. On the inside was the barrier keeping Bellatrix out of the house and on the outside, covering a surprisingly large area, was a thin muggle repelling ward. It was strange, though, as she could faintly feel the muggle repelling ward, even though wards of that type were usually invisible to and ineffective against wizards.

It was most likely that someone had set the muggle repelling ward very recently, as it was already fading from her senses. Whoever had made this one must have just put it up. Perhaps Gilgamesh had set it in order to give the other masters free reign to hunt Harry Potter in the day time?

Berserker gave the barrier one more solid hit and another agonizing groan brought delight to her ears. Turning her attention away from the broader wards, she mused over the nature of the barrier preventing her access to the house. These were the strongest wards that she had ever seen and she couldn't help but admire them despite the fact that they were blocking her progress; and that was saying something considering that she had once broken into the castle Hogwarts during the old war.

This protective barrier was even stronger than the ones that protected the most famous school. These wards had to have been created by Dumbledore himself using some form of ancient magic that had been lost to time. Otherwise these wards would have been more commonplace and she would have known the proper course against them.

No wonder the boy who had slain her master was still alive. Her colleagues had probably tried to kill him earlier and then simply given up when they couldn't breach the wards.

Oh well, at least she couldn't blame them if they had tried. The resistance they put up against Berserker was nothing less than admirable; even if they belonged to someone who was about to die. The only way through these wards was brute force, and berserker had lots of that.

"Keep hitting them!"

Berserker roared and then struck again. The familiar groan of the wards was getting louder and more tinny. They were nearing the end of their strength, as long as berserker kept up his assault the wards would fail soon.

Then she would take Harry Potter's head.

XXXXXX

Harry winced as the barrier keeping the enemies out shattered with a mighty crash. From his hiding spot he couldn't see them, but he could certainly feel the bloodlust emanating from the servant. It was terrifying to endure as he waited, all the while praying for some miracle or for his servant to come and save him.

It was pure torment to stay as still as possible inside of the attic in the garage. In his haste he had somehow managed to climb on top of the family car before using it as a step to jump up to the rafters near the top of the garage. From there he had managed to find an old tub that normally carried the many Christmas ornaments and he had climbed inside before covering it.

Three weeks ago Harry had cursed Dudley and his gang for throwing those glass ornaments at him, now he was extremely grateful that the asshole's actions had given him a hiding spot. Even if it wasn't an intended consequence of his cousin's actions, it was something.

Hopefully, if he stayed as quiet as possible, the enemies wouldn't notice him. All he could do was wait and pray that Mordred would be here soon.

XXXXXX

Bellastrix grinned from ear to ear as she approached the house that belonged to the now dead Dursleys. Just as she had predicted, Berserker's repeated beatings against the barrier had finally popped it and now she was free to gather the young Harry Potter and take his head.

In her right hand was a weathered eight inch wand made of holly with a hair of a unicorn as its core. It was the traditional tool for witches; as a focus for her magic it was a great tool for all sorts of spell casting. Unfortunately, it wasn't a good fit, as her original wand had been snapped when she was first incarcerated in Azkaban and, in her haste to flee the island prison, it was one of the only wands that she had managed to procure from the guards. Still, beggars couldn't be choosers and as such it, despite the uncomfortable feel and the resistance it gave her, the wand would be more than sufficient for basic spell work.

In her left hand was a large chef's knife with a dainty handle and a small but respectable seven inch blade. If all went well she would use it to carve out the boy's heart before taking his head. Truthfully it was a dreadfully inadequate tool for breaking through the tough bones located in the neck and ribs but that didn't matter. What was important was the fact that she had carved and manipulated the blade to better balance it for throwing.

Oh, how she hoped the boy who lived would be the boy who ran. She so dearly wanted to see the terror in his eyes as her blade caught him in his back.

Stepping over the threshold of the front door, she immediately curled her nose in disgust. "I wasn't first?" she questioned herself upon looking at the lovely scene in the hallway in front of her.

It appeared that someone had already beaten her to the punch.

There were three bloodstained and mutilated corpses in front of her; a fat man on the ground floor and two decapitated bodies at the top of the stairs. The figure on the ground was of no consequence so she immediately ignored it, silently stepping around the blood pools as she approached the staircase. What was truly concerning was the fact that one of those two decapitated bodies up at the top of the stairs belonged to what appeared to be a boy.

If someone else beat her to the punch and had already collected the head of Harry Potter then she would be so very angry.

"Berserker," Bellatrix ordered as she slowly climbed the stairs to the second floor, "go look around and try to find Harry Potter."

She made the order, just in case she was mistaken, but she made sure to be cautious in the current situation. Regardless of whether or not her target was already claimed, the fact remained that someone or something had killed the family members of this house. She had to be very careful here, lest an unknown servant catch her off guard while Berserker was away from her.

Creeping along slowly, Bellatrix finally made it to the corpses that she wanted to investigate. It was strange, the bodies only had one cut each but both of the heads were missing. Whoever had killed them had done so without much of a fight. Then again, whoever had killed them was probably a servant and there honestly wasn't much that a human could do against a heroic spirit.

Still, something was off. The smell of the blood seemed a bit too stale and the discoloration on the carpet and walls had already been set in. A light kick of the woman's arm revealed the fact that rigor mortis was in full effect. The same test on the boy's body confirmed the same result.

Something wasn't right here, she noted to herself as she ran the facts over in her mind. These corpses were old and there had been that pesky ward still protecting the house. Someone must have killed them before the announcement was made, which meant that Harry Potter was still alive.

The thrill of the hunt returned to her, "Berserker!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, "Find the boy and bring him to me! Unharmed!"

Harry closed his eyes and prayed as the newly named Berserker stalked the halls of his house. He couldn't move and he couldn't run, he could only hide in his makeshift shelter and pray that there would be some form of divine intervention.

XXXXXX

Berserker sniffed the air angrily as he stalked through the house. His master demanded that he bring her the boy, so he would comply. Even with his mind clouded by rage, it would be a simple task to hunt down the target. His mad enhancement was only rank-C so he was still capable of coherent thought, although it was very difficult for him to express it.

His heavy armored boots stepped silently as he carefully checked every nook and cranny of every room. Mailbox in hand, he continued his search through the house, flooding each one with his rage fueled aura, drowning everything in hate. Surely the target, a boy by the way his master spoke of him, would have turned up by now if he was in the house.

When the ground floor proved to be empty, he ascended the staircase past his master and began his search anew.

But no, the boy could not be found. The house remained completely silent save for Berserker's quiet movements and his master's strange mutterings. His master was certain that the boy was still here, but he wasn't in the house. There must have been somewhere else for the boy to hide.

But where?

Walking back down the stairs, he marched outside and then realized his folly. There was an attached garage as well as a backyard to hide in.

If the boy had hidden in the back yard, then he would have already climbed the fence and escaped. So, if that were the case, then searching the back yard would be meaningless. His master would be most displeased in that situation, however there would be nothing Berserker could do about it.

That meant that the proper course of action would be to check the garage. If the boy was hiding in there then Berserker would find him.

He raised his makeshift weapon above his head and prepared to knock down the garage door. Since his mailbox was considered a noble phantasm it would break through with ease. Still, he had to be careful lest he use too much force and accidentally knock the entire building over. His master had specifically stated to leave the boy unharmed.

With his hands ready to bring down the breaching strike, instead of striking the door he found himself paused. There was something wrong about this situation. Something was very wrong.

Then he heard it. In the midst of his murderous rage, he had drowned out his ability to sense the other servants. However, despite that, he still had his other five senses. And his hearing told him that someone was coming.

Closer… Closer… whoever it was rapidly closing the distance between them. Very soon they would be upon him. The roar of their approach was getting louder and louder. They thought they had caught him by surprise.

But he knew they were coming.

Three…

Two…

One…

"DIE!" he shouted angrily as he twisted his body, swinging his hammer downward with all of his might.

XXXXXX

Berserker knew where he was.

Harry didn't know how, but the mad servant was right outside the garage door. He wanted screamed in fear but, somehow, he managed to suppress his terror. Giving away his position would do no good, even if Berserker already knew where he was. With his jaw locked shut and his hands cradling his head, Harry remained as absolutely still as possible inside of his box. There was no vision thanks to the pitch blackness inside his hiding spot, but he could feel the enemy servant's anger.

It was like bathing in a sea of hate.

He desperately tried to make himself as small as possible, imagining that he simply didn't exist at the moment and praying that Berserker would just walk past his hiding spot. But Harry's heart was betraying him as it beat rapidly and heavily, echoing in the still air; it was so straining that his heart felt as though it was ripping out a hole in his chest. Nothing he could do would silence it and he was sure that Berserker had found him purely off the sound of his own heartbeat. He needed Mordred here right now or he was going to be found and killed.

His mind turned to his servant Saber, somehow trying to keep his mind off the dire situation. He had felt Mordred's own killing intent yesterday but, as awful as it was, it was nothing compared to Berserker. Saber used her killing intent as a tool, like a soldier brandishing a firearm, quick to apply it to reiterate her point but once its usefulness had ended she had put it aside. Berserker, on the other hand, seemed content to simply blast his rage outward in all directions like a teenager with a boom box that played terrible music.

But the comparison really didn't matter. Berserker was the servant that was hunting him down and Mordred wasn't there to protect him. No amount of magic would bring her to him, so he could only pray for a miracle.

Caught, no more than a few feet from his enemy, and engulfed by the servant's anger, Harry could only pray to whatever god had granted him his wish. He did not want to die; not here, not now, not ever. And yet, all he could do was hope for divine intervention as the Berserker's roar pierced through the darkness.

But, standing so close to Berserker's anger, there was no hope. Sheer abject terror consumed him as he desperately tried to cover his ears; anything to blot out the horrible scream of rage.

And then the killing aura disappeared and the world around his box exploded into motion. His box was violently tossed around with no mercy as the garage around him seemed to collapse on itself. Noise assaulted his ears from all directions, and then he found himself briefly floating in his hiding place.

It was only a temporary sensation, as in the next second he found himself slammed hard against a side of the box. Berserker must have thrown him from the attic portion of the garage to the ground floor below. Alternatively, Berserker must have simply brought the building down, because there were muffled impacts coming from all around the box.

Dazed and slightly confused, Harry found himself unable to move as a piercing hate once again rocked his body to the core. Berserker had deemed it necessary to bring forth his killing intention again, and this time it was coming from directly on top of him. Time seemed to stand still as Harry just knew that he was going to die.

And yet, the killing intent moved away from him.

There was a fierce clang as metal rocked metal, and then Harry heard it. Repeated strikes in a rapid fashion. Berserker roared angrily and then the ground shook, leading into more and more echoing clangs through the air. Even though they were muffled Harry could hear each and every strike. Metal on metal, metal on wood, the sound of smashing concrete and splintering wood, Berserker's roars of rage - each sound cried out in an almost mystical symphony of battle.

His hopes soared as he listened to the battle. Someone was distracting the enemy servant, but who could it be?

"Please tell me that's you outside," he thought to himself as he crossed his fingers. Surely Mordred must have arrived on the battlefield; she must have managed to distract Berserker! Or maybe she had thrown him through the garage and Berserker had never actually found his hiding spot. He didn't know the specifics of the situation, but Mordred had to be outside. There was no other explanation for why Berserker hadn't caught him already.

Harry knew it was a bad idea, but he simply couldn't resist looking out from his hiding spot. Mordred was here and she needed to know where he was. Once she knew where he was, they could escape this god forsaken house together.

Well, after she killed Berserker.

He quietly pushed up on the top of his box, finding a large amount of weight on top of it. It was so heavy; something must have fallen on top of it and sealed him inside. But, despite that weight, he somehow found the strength to lift the lid a few inches and barely peaked outside of his box. Light crept through the slit and blinded him briefly as his eyes adjusted, but they quickly did and he was amazed to see what had happened to number four Privet Drive while he was hiding.

The garage was an absolute disaster zone and the street outside wasn't looking much better. The concrete was cratered in tremendous impacts as two servants fought it out with their massive strength. One servant was berserker, holding onto what appeared to be a shovel; Harry could recognize him simply from his murderous aura alone. The other servant, though…

… That wasn't Mordred

Carrying a spear in his right hand as he expertly dueled Berserker, the other servant was a male of tall stature and confident posture. His short and spiky hair of a pale blond flowed in the wind as he moved with a speed that was almost impossible to track. It was hard to make details out, as the servant was constantly moving around Berserker, dipping and diving around the shovel knight's wild blows. Every once in a while he would stop for a moment, using his silver-on-metal vambraces to deflect Berserker's weapon before thrusting forward with his spear.

"You're pretty good for a mad dog!" the man shouted aloud as the mad knight batted his weapon away in a mirroring move. The way he spoke told harry of his unyielding confidence, as though he wasn't afraid to taunt Berserker.

The man stopped for a moment as the two grappled over their weapons, giving Harry a brief but detailed view of the man. He was adorned in a black clothing with silver-on-metal armor; sturdy and built of quality, yet not bulky enough to impede his movements in any way. He wore boots, but not full leggings; gauntlets, but not full arm plate; shoulder pads and an armored belt, but not a helmet. Finally, as though to give his two colored outfit contrast, the man had a long and slender orange cloth that was wrapped several times around his body, over his right shoulder and under his left armpit, before tying off into a short cape of sorts.

And he had just winked at Harry.

Swallowing hard, Harry quietly ducked back into his hiding place. There was no way in hell he was going to expose himself to two enemy servants. Even if one of them knew where he was, that man was at least distracted by the enemy servant. Hopefully Mordred would get here soon.

No… Wait. That servant knew where he was. Hiding wasn't the right answer. His location was no longer safe and the other masters would probably find him soon. Even if the other masters were preoccupied, there was still the risk of the other servants finishing their fight before Mordred arrived. In that situation Harry would die.

"Come on Harry, you can do this…" he whispered to himself, mentally steeling his nerves as he prepared to expose himself to danger. Hiding was no longer an answer to the problem, but he could run.

With a mighty heave Harry pushed off the lid to his hiding place and quickly surveyed the area. He couldn't run out the front because there were still two servants fighting out there. The house was compromised because there was an enemy master in there as well. That left the back, but the fences were still too high for him to climb over... wait, nevermind.

Something had smashed through the back of the garage and continued on through the fences and into the house behind him. He had an escape route!

XXXXXX

The air around the servant exploded into a force of destruction with the ripples of air cutting into everything in an outward explosion. The ambusher had truly thought that Berserker was caught off guard, but when he instead turned around and struck first the servant had been proven wrong. What had been planned as a surprise attack had been instead been turned around against Servant Rider.

"DIE!" shouted the black knight as he brought his hammer to bear against Rider's chariot. It was a fast counter attack, with Berserker's rapid speed barely allowing the striking portion of his weapon to slam against the head of Rider's lead horse.

"I was hoping you would prove to be competent." came the arrogant retort of Servant Rider as his chariot crashed into Berserker.

Rider smiled as the blow proved to be of no consequence. Despite his hefty blow against the horse, Berserker's makeshift noble phantasm was not all that affective against Rider's chariot. It was a great blow, but Rider's chariot was a noble phantasm as well. Known as Troias Tragoidia, the tempestuous immortal chariot, Rider had given his noble phantasm fame during his legendary actions in the Trojan War. Unstoppable and undeniable, it would take much more than a simple retaliatory blow to stop his legendary chariot drawn by three immortal horses.

Stunned briefly, but otherwise unharmed, Rider's horses continued their rampageous charge and returned the favor against Berserker. They plowed into the mad warrior with all the force of lightning, quickly knocking him down and trampling upon him angrily. Furious hooves smashed into his armor, and crushed him relentlessly, all the while continuing on their assault.

And just as quickly as it had come, the horses passed over Berserker and made way for the true brunt of the assault. Off balance and on the ground, Berserker was unable to guard against the body of the chariot. Troias Tragoidia was truly a devastating weapon, as it plowed up the very ground itself and crushed Berserker beneath its wheels and dragged him forwards.

Jumping backwards from his place at the reigns, Rider gently snapped his fingers and exited the chariot before it crashed into the garage. The horses, heedless of any danger, drove straight into the building and out the other side before disappearing in a brief flash of light. Their purpose fulfilled, the horses drove the chariot away. They would return to him if needed.

With a cocky grin on his face, Servant Rider crossed his arms and surveyed the wreckage of his attack. Berserker had been an interesting opponent, but woefully ill-equipped to deal with Rider's Noble Phantasm. Not only had his chariot mercilessly crushed Berserker underfoot, but it had also continued on through the garage without so much as slowing down. Neither had given any resistance to his horses as they were content to simply demolish everything in their path, leaving Berserker behind in a pile of buried rubble.

"DIE!" roared the pile of rubble as it exploded upwards, revealing a very angry Berserker. Rider couldn't help but flinch backwards as his opponent lifted a large chunk of wall above his head and hurled it at him with all his might.

Damn, apparently his chariot hadn't been as effective as he had hoped. Only a few scarce seconds had passed and already the mad servant was throwing the rubble that he had been buried in back at Rider.

"The hell are you doing?" he questioned aloud while dodging backwards down the driveway in order to evade flying concrete and steel. He dipped below a steel beam that was warped in darkness, only to dodge to the left of a garden rake that was also warped in darkness. There was something off about the makeshift thrown weapons that Berserker was sending at him, each one felt like it was substantially more than just rubble. Each one was just a piece of trash, and yet his warrior's instinct told him that each one of them would hurt tremendously if he got hit by them.

Well, they would hurt tremendously if he didn't have his numerous noble phantasms. But it would be best to play his cards close to his hand; he didn't want to reveal them unnecessarily.

Berserker simply roared before grabbing a shovel from the pile and leaping towards Rider. Just like the rubble thrown at him, Rider noted that it too was clouded in darkness. There was something special about that darkness, but what?

"You're one stubborn bastard!" shouted Rider with a smile on his face as he materialized his second noble phantasm in his right hand. This one was a spear, Diatrecon Aster Logche - the Spear-tip of the Star Traveling the Skies. With it he had slain the mighty Trojan hero Hector, and with it he would slay his opponent before him.

Spear met shovel as the two joined into combat once more.

XXXXXX

On the opposite end of the street, a loud crack announced the arrival of a third master. Although he had apparated in broad daylight, heedless of any bystander witnesses to both magic and the tournament, he was not at all concerned about keeping his presence a secret. With the absolute chaos and destruction that Rider and Berserker were creating, he was certain that anyone who wanted to witness the spectacle across the street was already clued in on the action.

He touched down on the ground with a shudder, having appeared two inches in the air, and fought to maintain his balance as he abruptly dropped to the earth. It had been a very long time since he had performed that particular feat of magic and it was very disorienting to say the least. But, then again, most magic was at least a little draining due to the combined problems of him being a master in this war and the fact that he hadn't been able to take care of his body in over six years.

Pale and thin, weak and gaunt, Sirius Black nevertheless stood as straight and tall as he possibly could. Fighting back the bile in his throat, he brushed his long and unkempt hair out of his eyebrows allowing him to properly watch the ensuing battle between Rider and Berserker. His servant, Rider, had arrived on the scene in order to clear a path before Sirius apparated in to the war zone. Rider had made certain that any enemy servants would be handled in order to give him as best a chance as possible for recovering his godson.

Rider… Sirius Black had known that he would summon a servant that would be a legend from the throne of heroes, but he hadn't expected to summon him. According to Gilgamesh, the more well known the legend the stronger the hero would be, and that meant that a hero who was still a house hold name after thousands of years would be incredibly strong. Well, by some freak miracle of luck, the lottery of randomly choosing a servant had landed Sirius Black with possibly one of the strongest servants to ever walk this earth.

The Trojan War had created many heroes of great fame. They came from many walks of life and focused their talents on just about every different skill. Some, like Hector, would be best suited as lancers while others, such as Odysseus, would be better suited as archers. Even more heroes such as the mighty Ajax with his glorious shield would be unable to properly fall inside the class system. But the greatest hero of the war, the hero who was still revered and known to all, fell under the class of rider.

His name was Achilles; son of the sea goddess Thetis and the mortal hero Peleus. He was a man who had carved his legend on the battlefield of Troy. His chariot rode down the defending armies without mercy. His spear struck down the great Trojan hero Hector. His immortal body was brought low by a single well placed arrow that had pierced his only vulnerability. His tale was immortalized in the Iliad by Homer and everyone knew his name.

An explosion of force when Achilles's spear ripped off the shoulder of Berserker's armor returned Sirius back to the reality of the situation. Swallowing hard, Sirius Black had a hard time believing that just two servants were capable of creating so much damage.

Calling it a war zone would be an understatement. The two servants had completely demolished the street and the surrounding houses! Impact craters marred the concrete as the two servants scarred the landscape with every single movement and connection of their weapons. They were a blur of rapid speed that his eyes could barely track, moving as fast as lightning as Rider's spear repeatedly contested against Berserker's… shovel?

What the hell? How in the world did shovel become a noble phantasm?

Blinking in confusion, Sirius Black noted that the Berserker was using a warped black shovel against Rider's spear. It was both amazing and frightening to see the black armored servant swinging it around expertly and fending off Rider's offenses while making his own attacks. He used it like a short halberd, deftly using the metal edge to both slash and stab in a flurry of rage, all the while continuing to rapidly tear up the ground.

…To think that there were other legends in this battle capable of matching Achilles in combat…

Sirius was almost blown off his feet by the shockwave when Rider swung his spear like a baseball bat against Berserker. The armored knight responded by grabbing Rider's spear at the last second and then pulling him in close, surprising Sirius's servant with his action. Berserker then fluidly dropped his shovel before headbutting Rider and lifting him off his feet. The mad servant released Rider's spear as his victim was sent flying backwards into the house where his god son was probably hiding.

Sirius was breathless; he had known that servants were far stronger than any living human, but to see them fighting in action was something else entirely. The absolute devastation of the terrain that was resulting from their fight was horrendous and, had he not been present to witness the destruction as it was unfolding, he would not have believed it possible. While it was true that wizards could get a little destructive in their duels, this was on a completely different level.

Rider erupted from the wreckage of the house without as much as a scratch, charging forward with a blinding speed. His spear poised in hand, his servant closed the gap between the servants and lunged forward, extending his weapon's reach right as he came upon Berserker. Still, the armored opponent dodged backwards, leaning to the side as he returned a striking blow with his makeshift noble phantasm being slung parallel to the ground.

"Master!" shouted Rider annoyingly as he batted away Berserker's shovel with his fist, "Stop staring at me and go get your god son! He just ran out the back of the garage!"

Sirius Black blinked in surprise as he realized that he had been caught up in the fight. Right now he needed to be looking for Harry Potter and not gawking at the capabilities of his servant. There were other goals that took priority over his own amazement and at the moment he needed to go find his god son. Time was of the essence and there was no telling when another enemy servant would arrive.

XXXXXX

Rider grinned devilishly as he parried Berserker's strikes with his spear. It was quite fascinating to fight the mad servant as, even with all of Rider's raw speed, he wasn't gaining any momentum in the fight. Berserker was physically much stronger than Rider was and, despite his opponent's Mad Enhancement, the servant was still barely edging him out in terms of weapon skill.

Even though it was a god damned shovel, Berserker was using it with such an absurd degree of expertise that Rider's own weapon was unable to exploit any openings in his defense. Not that Berserker was leaving any openings to exploit in the first place; no, all of Rider's offensive attacks came from his raw speed. And even then, barely edging out Berserker in terms of speed, Rider noted that the mad servant's ability to use the shovel was adequately defending against most of Rider's attacks.

It didn't help that Berserker was so much stronger than he was. His sheer physical brutality was extremely annoying to deal with. Multiple times Rider had thought to claim the advantage, only to have it taken away by the mad servant's strength.

It was a battle of paper cuts, for every blow that Rider managed to land Berserker would return the favor. Rider would barely nick the edge of Berserker's armor and then Berserker would smash him with the blunt end of his shovel. Berserker would punch him in the chest and then Rider would impale a piece of armor. Rider would stab berserker's foot and then Berserker would throw him through a building. Neither side could gain any momentum in the fight, despite each side doing their best to claim the fight in their favor.

It was almost frustrating to deal with Berserker as the servant made it very hard to coordinate defensive and offensive movements. The mad servant was constantly moving inside of Rider's spear's effective range and making it very difficult to properly block his attacks. It also didn't help that the mad servant was leaking his murderous rage everywhere. Berserker had saturated the atmosphere to the point that it was almost impossible to instinctively sense where Rider needed to attack him.

Rider quickly found that he was getting nowhere fast.

"You're pretty good for a mad dog!" taunted Rider with a backhanded compliment as he struck out with Diatrecon Aster Logche. The Greek hero had run over Berserker so easily with his chariot, but it was becoming increasingly clear that the only reason he had been able to do so was because Berserker had underestimated him in the first place. Now that Berserker was fighting with his full strength, Rider found himself hard pressed to gain much of an advantage. "I'd taunt you a little more, but you're a piss poor conversationalist."

Well, if Berserker could deal well with one noble phantasm, how well could he deal with two? He had hidden this Noble Phantasm long enough. While it was technically always exposed, it was time for him to abuse its power.

Berserker simply roared as he ducked the spear and lashed out with his shovel. The makeshift noble phantasm that had served him well for the past five minutes caught Rider cleanly in the head and then dragged its razor sharp cutting edge across his face. Sure of his hit, Berserker poured even more power into the strike, keen to finally bring an end to the servant that had delayed his hunt for Harry Potter.

For any other servant, Berserker would have dealt an effective decapitation.

For Rider, the attack hadn't even drawn blood.

Andreias Amarantos, the Amaranth of the Brave. Named after the flower that never fades, it was Achilles's most prized and most famous Noble Phantasm. A gift from his mother in a desire to make him into a god like her, Andreias Amarantos was a blessing that affected his own body and rendered him completely immune from harm. No attack, no matter how strong, could hope to hurt him – not the mightiest blows from the strongest of noble phantasms and certainly not Berserker's god damned shovel.

The battle was his. Rider, completely ignoring the fact that he had been struck, pulled his spear back and quickly thrust it forwards once more. For the first time in this fight he had been given a real opening. Berserker had put so much power into the blow that the mad servant had brought himself off balance in the attack. Now it was time to put that opening to use.

XXXXXX

Harry ran as fast as his short legs could take him, quickly scrambling out of his former hiding place and out through the back of the garage. One of those servants had created a massive hole that gave him access to the house behind him, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the eye. Right now that opening was the only way out of the battlefield and he had to take it.

Even though there were two servants out there, they were preoccupied with fighting each other and that meant that he had a small chance to escape safely. Yes, that other servant had seen his face, but hopefully he could make enough distance in order to escape and then find a new hiding spot.

Fleeing for his life, Harry hopped over the destroyed fence and into his neighbor's backyard. From there he quickly rushed over to their driveway and ran into the street. A quick look around him told Harry that there was no one else out in the open. That meant that there were no potential enemies that could harm him.

As he looked around, he paused to catch his breath for a short moment. He had to figure out which way to go; he had to figure out which way would take him to safety.

Adrenaline coursed through his body as the echoing sounds of the two servants rang out in the distance. He could hear the steel on steel clashing as their weapons impacted one another and he could just imagine the destruction that was happening to his now former home. No doubt they were creating such a large amount of destruction that someone would have to investigate.

No! He had to focus. At the moment he couldn't dwell on what may or may not happen. He needed to focus on the moment and right now he needed to get running again. Even though he couldn't see any enemy servants or masters that didn't mean he was safe. He needed to put more distance between him and the battlefield or else-…

"Crucio!"

XXXXXX

With one hand Rider drove his spear forward, bouncing off Berserker's gauntlet and into his armored shoulder, punching through the metal defenses with ease. Diatrecon Aster Logche erupted from the other end with an array of blood and flesh before it was immediately pulled out the same way it had entered Berserker.

Berserker roared in pain and tried to pull away from Rider, but Rider grabbed onto Berserker's makeshift noble phantasm and held onto it with his open hand in order to lock up his opponent's movements. Berserker was so much stronger than he was and already the servant was breaking the weapon free from his grasp but, despite his strength, Rider only needed to arrest his movement for a split second.

Using all of his speed, Rider brought forth his weapon against Berserker one more time. In truth, he hadn't planned on a second strike. His connecting blow against Berserker had been aimed at the man's head but Berserker had somehow managed to deflect it at the last moment. While he had punctured Berserker's shoulder it was only a flesh wound. This second strike would be decisive, and it would finish the fight.

This blow was aimed at Berserker's chest, and there wasn't any way that the Berserker could deflect it.

"DIE!"

Berserker roared in Rider's face as he let go of his Noble Phantasm and twisted his body in such an inhuman way that his spine must surely have broken in order to do so. Rider's spear narrowly avoided him as it rushed past, all the while scraping sparks off his armor. The shovel, having finally reached its limits, exploded into fragments against Rider's face as Berserker planted his feet into the ground and then kicked off with a bull's charge at Rider.

"Again?! Bullshit!" cried Rider in alarm as his decisive strike failed because of Berserker's physicality. He knew he shouldn't have been surprised, but it was infuriating to have yet another finishing blow stolen away from him. Berserker had broken the laws of physics in order to defend against his finishing strike and now Rider was the warrior off balance!

The mad servant pushed forward with all his might, driving his uninjured shoulder upwards into Rider's body with all the force of a locomotive. The strike lifted Rider off his feet and into the air for a brief moment before Berserker grabbed Rider's legs with both of his hands, reversing his momentum and slamming him into the ground with a craterizing impact.

Unable to maneuver his body in order to defend himself, Rider found himself breaking concrete with his back. Thanks to his Andreias Amarantos the attack was left him with no damage, but it had thrown him off guard and he couldn't bring his Diatrecon Aster Logche up to properly defend himself.

Berserker was immediately upon him, rushing down to Rider before his target could evade. The black knight planted his knees on Rider's chest and then raised his hands into a striking position. With his armored fists ready to strike, he brought them to bear upon Rider's face. The black aura that had exuded from his shovel was now coating his gauntlets and with a mighty left hook Berserker began his assault.

Left, right, left, right, left, right…

Over and over Berserker brought his fists to bear, alternative each strike with a devastating power. Each fist transferred so much force that the blows cracked the concrete every time Berserker punched Rider in the face. It was a truly brutal attack, more akin to a street fight than a warrior's duel, and yet Rider had no choice but to endure the blows and wait for an opening.

"DIE!" screamed berserker as he brought both hands to his side and then boxed Rider's ears in. He held onto the man and then brutally used his ears as handles to smash the back of his head against the shattered ground below. Once, twice, three times he slammed Rider against the ground, each time putting more and more force in a vain attempt to break through Rider's Andreias Amarantos.

Berserker's fist paused mid strike as the man suddenly turned his attention away from Rider, his helmet looking upwards towards the garage.

"Enough!" shouted Rider as he seized the opportunity. Even though he was receiving no injury, it was still insulting to be a victim of this assault. He was better than this, and to have a mindless servant constantly be putting him on the edge of his ability was infuriating.

Moving his leg with an inhuman power, Rider forcefully slammed his knee into the back of Berserker, pushing him off balance and driving him forward. Berserker, his attention distracted by some unseen circumstance, was unable to guard from the attack to his blind spot as Rider immediately followed it up with another strike, bringing his spear upwards as though it were a baseball back. This time Berserker was paying attention and he raised his fist to block the attack, but Rider struck harder than Berserker was capable of defending against.

Diatrecon Aster Logche met Berserker's gauntlets effortlessly and then continued on as though Berserker hadn't even blocked it. The spear smashed against Berserker's helmet and sent him flying off to the side, momentarily freeing Rider from his opponent by creating a significant space gap.

The instant that Berserker was off of him, Rider flexed his body and flipped into the air, righting his self and returning to his feet. Berserker stood where he had landed, his attention still seemingly elsewhere, but that didn't matter to Rider.

"I don't care how many noble phantasms I have to show you." commented Rider angrily as he spun his spear around in his hand and readied it to strike. "Before the end of this day, I will have your head."

XXXXXX

"Crucio!"

Unimaginable pain erupted from all over Harry's body as his body seized in place. Every single muscle in his body seemed to constrict at the same time and every single nerve in his body cried out in agony. The pain was so intense, so all-consuming, that he no longer knew where he was... white-hot knives were piercing every inch of his skin; his head was surely going to burst with pain. Unable to support his body, Harry Potter found himself crashing to the ground in a heap.

It was hard to focus through all the pain. Everything was a blur. Harry knew he was screaming but he couldn't hear himself anymore. His world was unbearable agony, vaguely similar to the killing intent that belonged to Berserker – only instead of feeling the need to kill himself he was feeling his body cry out in pain.

"Expulso!"

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the sensation ended.

Harry found himself lying on his back against the concrete street, his breathing ragged and his vision blurred. Even though the pain was gone his body still twitched, making it so very hard to focus. But once the pain was gone, Harry was left with an overwhelming sense of confusion and fear. What in the hell had happened to him? What could possibly have made him hurt that badly?

"Tut tut, my dear," came that same singsongy voice from earlier, only now it was much closer. "You aren't allowed to escape."

Wearily turning his head towards her, Harry could make out her frazzled and long black hair and ratty robe. She looked emaciated and crazy, much like those homeless people that uncle Vernon had always complained about. What scared him, though, was the fact that she had a stick in one hand and a knife in the other.

And she was walking closer.

"Who… Who are you?" questioned Harry as he rolled onto his stomach and tried to push himself back onto his feet. He had to flee from her. She was going to kill him.

A blinding pain surged forth from his right leg, the woman had thrown her blade at him! Crying out in pain, Harry immediately crashed back to the ground; his wounded leg was unable to support his weight. It didn't help that the moment he fell back to the ground, the woman kicked him hard in the stomach and forced him back onto his back again.

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to tell you, after all I want you to know the name of the woman who will kill you." replied the crazy woman as she hovered over his body, all the while pointing her stick straight at him. Her terrifying brown eyes bore into his soul and her devilish grin promised torture. She was crazy, sadistic, and cruel; and the way she was smiling – as though she couldn't wait to kill him – was absolutely terrifying.

Compared to Mordred's pinpoint rage and Berserker's dread aura, Bellatrix's feral face was far worse.

"My name is Bellatrix Lestrange and you killed my lord. Crucio!"

Harry's world erupted into pain once more. Every second was agony, every moment was hell. His flesh burned and his body seized in place. He was screaming louder than he had ever screamed before; his vocal cords had involuntarily triggered as he cried out. He couldn't even stop his wailing to breath, the pain was so great that it overruled his basic functions of life.

The cursed pain continued for far longer than it had last time. Harry screamed until he had no more air in his lungs, pausing only to suck in the barest minimum of oxygen required to continue his wailing agony.

When a boot stepped on his throat, he found himself deprived of that one reprieve. Bellatrix was standing on top of him and saying something incomprehensible as she cackled in pleasure, but it was lost to the boy as he drowned beneath the cruciatus curse. He cried out in muted anguish until he could cry out no more; tears flowing freely from his eyes that could see nothing beyond pain. A muted gurgle coming from his closed off throat.

Then the pain subsided and the boot had been lifted away.

Harry's body was shaking terribly as he regained a sliver of control over his body and took deep breaths. His lungs burned as he greedily gulped down the oxygen into his starved body.

Someone was screaming. Then the screaming ended.

Although the physical pain from the curse was gone, his mind was still slowly rebooting itself from the trauma. All that Harry wanted to do was sleep, his senses were dulled and it was so very hard to think. He couldn't even move his limbs; they were still numb and limp and unable to respond to even his most basic commands. Only his lungs obeyed him as he rested on the ground like a rag doll. Even then, his windpipe had very nearly been crushed. Breathing was so difficult that it took a great amount of focus just to do that.

"Ma...er..."

Someone was talking. Someone was above him. He could feel their rage leaking outwards like a sieve, it was pure and hot and strangely comforting. It was a familiar rage; it belonged to someone that he knew.

It wasn't directed at him. No, it was as though the rage was wrapping around him and shielding him from the outside world.

"Ma...er... Are... Kay?"

"Sa...ber?"

He couldn't properly understand her words and her voice was distorted from her mask, but he could feel her anger as it protected him.

She had picked him up.

He was still limp, and apparently now drooling from the mouth he was unable to close. He was so tired; the pain and oxygen deprivation had drained him of all his energy. Every muscle burned and it was taking all of his energy just to stay conscious. No doubt she already knew this; and yet she was still compassionate - a far cry from her demeanor yesterday.

Mordred grabbed his arms and wrapped them around their neck, holding them together as she rested his body against her chest plate. With a solid grip her left hand wrapped around his legs and rested on his stomach, securely fastening him to her body.

"Master... Don't let go under any circumstances."

A tear formed in his eyes as he closed them with a smile. "I knew you would save me..." he blearily whispered, barely able to form coherent words. Still, he tightened his grip as best he could by grabbing onto each of his forearms and simply holding on.

"I'm here master. You're safe now."

That's right. Mordred was here. He was safe now.

She would take care of everything.

* * *

(A/N): Well, here we are. Chapter 3 and I'm just now getting to the first fights. I'm not gonna lie, though, this chapter was fairly hard to write and I ended up rewriting it four to five times. Originally it was this big blob that introduced THREE new characters, completely stole the spotlight from the main duo, and just had this weird feel to it. Ultimately, I decided to simply introduce two new characters (Sirius and Rider!Achilles) and set the stage for the next chapter. If you look closely enough, you can actually see some foreshadowing for the next chapter - which is really part two of this chapter. I simply decided to separate them due to chapter size.

As for an ETA on the second chapter... real life has decided to kick my ass and that's why this chapter took so long to get out. It's been very hard to get time to write but I'll do my best to get another chapter out sooner than it took for this one.

Thanks for reading, and if you have any questions or comments drop me a review or private message :)

* * *

comment response/ Q&A time:

Q) Did I guess caster's identity right? A) Yup. and just wait til you see his character sheet (not revealed yet). Four words: "Personal skills - double summon"

Q) Will Rin, Illya, Archer ally with Harry? A) Maybe, but I don't want to give a straight answer for spoiler reasons. But they weren't added just because I needed characters. They will have a big role in later chapters.

C) I feel like Harry is too young to be the proper protagonist A) I know and that's been a valid concern of mine. The thing, though, is that I designed him to be the load that Mordred has to carry to the finish line. So many fanfictions have Harry ending up as a fairly powerful character and I wanted to do something different. In many ways, Harry and Mordred are going to share the primary protagonist duties. Even though this chapter was fairly Harry heavy and Mordred light, there will be chapters where the amount of screen time is flipped.

Anyways, that does it for now. Have a great day.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry Potter and the Blood of Arthur, chapter 4

* * *

Anger wasn't the right word to describe how she felt. As an adjective, the word was a woefully inadequate statement. Anger was but a small fraction of Mordred's ire and just one tiny facet of her rolling emotional state.

Hearing her master wailing in agony had been absolutely infuriating. The very fact that an enemy master had deemed fit to make him scream boiled Mordred's blood. Harry's sickening screams of pain pierced through the air for all to hear; the pitiful cries of torment, suffering, and terror. And hear them she did, for Mordred had been just around the corner of Privet Drive when Harry began his screaming. Though she could not see her master, she could hear him.

Whatever was happening to him, it wasn't good.

And, though she would never admit to it, Mordred couldn't help feeling a small amount of personal fear. If someone was torturing Harry then that person surely had her master's life in their hands. Just the mere notion that Harry could die at any second brought a very real dread that sank to the bottom of her heart.

If Harry died, then she died as well.

Was he being maimed? Was he dying? Was it already too late for Mordred to save him? Was her own legacy destined to be destroyed?

When Harry's cries of pain stopped, Mordred couldn't help but fear the worst.

Burying her insecurity and digging deeply in the anger that drove her, Mordred brought her motorcycle around the corner and to the back of the street where Harry's crying had begun. There she saw it; Harry was lying on the ground with an enemy master pointing a stick at him. He wasn't dead, but the other master had him at her mercy.

And based on the way she cackled wildly, she had been the master that had caused his earlier screams.

"My name is Bellatrix Lestrange and you killed my lord. Crucio!"

Spellcraft.

Once again Harry began screaming in pain as the newly named Bellatrix cackled wildly. It appeared that Bellatrix was a spellcaster and that the trigger word, crucio, was bringing forth an unimaginable and unbearable pain to Harry. Without so much as touching him Bellatrix was making him scream out in torment; strange, considering the lack of physically torturing him. The mere fact that Bellatrix's magic was doing this brought Mordred to an inappropriate halt.

On one hand, Mordred couldn't look away. Morbid fascination filled her mind as Bellatrix tortured her master. He was screaming and writhing in pain as though he was being drawn and quartered; yet he had no signs of any physical pain. How on earth could a single word elicit such a disgusting response? Moreover, how cruel could someone be to torture someone else in such a way? Surely death was a more merciful option than this endless torture using only a single word.

Although she was slightly relieved to find her master not quite dead, it still discomforted Mordred to know that she had been just a little too late to prevent Bellatrix from hurting Harry in such a way.

Only the most vile and cruel could possibly use such a curse. Only the most wretched and the blackest of sinners would ever deem fit to weaponize agony against others. And, while Mordred wasn't the nicest person in the world, torturing someone purely for pleasure was the darkest of sins. During her time as a knight in her father's court no one, not even her mother Morgan, would ever have seen fit to inflict pain in such a manner. It wasn't right; it was cruel and sadistic.

And the fact that Bellatrix Lestrange was doing so against her master, purely for fun, boiled Mordred's blood. It made her sick to her stomach. It made her curdle in rage.

So when Bellatrix deemed fit to step upon Harry's throat, Mordred snapped.

Mindful to first step off her motorcycle so as not to damage it, Mordred flooded prana into her legs and kicked off of the ground with a mighty leap. Gracefully Mordred soared through the air with all the force of a hurricane, closing the gap between her and the enemy master in an instant.

She must have travelled a couple hundred meters in less than a split second, but the distance carried no weight upon her mind. It didn't matter that the great speed she was traveling gave her tunnel vision and it didn't matter that there could possibly be another enemy nearby. Instead of even thinking about anything else, her mind was singularly focused on the bitch of a witch in front of her.

As she closed the last of the distance in her single bound, she raised her hands high above her head and summoned forth her sword. Clarent glowed with energy as she brought it down upon Bellatrix Lestrange in a mighty curved arc. Fire itself seemed to flow from the very tip of the blade, tracing a faint yet magnificent line in the air as she struck.

Clarent sang a song of rage and grace as Mordred brought it down with both hands. Prana coursed through her veins and flooded through her hands as she easily lopped of Belleatrix's wand arm at the elbow and cut off the source of the curse that was causing her master such pain. Clarent was, after all, a C ranked noble phantasm and using a prana burst made it so very easy for her to cut through the enemy master like a hot knife slicing butter.

Bellatrix seemed to recognize Mordred's presence as she blinked in surprise, but Mordred wasn't finished. Still in its downward arc, Clarent sang a song of fire and fury as it cut deeply into the leg that Bellatrix was using to pin Harry's throat. Bellatrix's leg gave just the smallest hint of resistance before it too was cleanly severed in a show of violence.

Mordred's face was hidden behind her heavy helmet, but the obscuring nature of her noble phantasm did nothing to suppress her rage and fury. She was screaming, but unlike Harry her vocal outburst was not one of pain but rather a guttural war cry. How dare this woman torture her charge! How dare this woman threaten Mordred's own legacy! How dare this woman even deem fit to exist in this world!

Pent up anger surged forth from Mordred as she released Clarent with her left hand while still holding it with her right; allowing the blade to freely continue on its arcing momentum without blocking her next attack.

Prana burst out of her left leg as she raised it high and planted it on Bellatrix's chest, pausing for a brief instant purely to allow Bellatrix time to realize what was happening. Fear and surprise read from the enemy master's facial features, but it did nothing to dissuade Mordred from striking. On the contrary, her look of terror only served to fuel Mordred's rage. With an exaggerated motion, Mordred pushed forward and kicked out with all the force of a tidal wave.

There was a sickening crunch as Bellatrix's ribs shattered beneath the blow, just as the prana burst of the attack traveled through her body and mercilessly sent her flying backwards, away from Harry and Mordred.

With a hidden smile on her face, Mordred found herself sadistically enjoying herself as she watched Bellatrix crash into the ground and then bounce as though she were a skipping stone tossed upon a lake. Even more enjoyable was the fact that Mordred knew she hadn't killed Bellatrix Lestrange. Despite being maimed, with two limbs being sliced off, and having her ribs pulverized, Mordred had tempered her blows just enough to ensure that none of Bellatrix's wounds were immediately fatal.

Of course, while they weren't immediately fatal, Bellatrix Lestrange was still going to die. These wounds were deliberate, and as long as no one intervened on Bellatrix's behalf then she would quickly bleed out or suffocate in a few minutes. It would have been easy to kill Bellatrix in her initial charge; all Mordred had really needed to do was aim for the head. It would have guaranteed an instant kill and taken an enemy master out of the war but that would have been too easy.

No. Not easy. Merciful.

After what Bellatrix Lestrange had done to her master, Mordred wanted her to suffer. Now, Mordred wasn't normally the type of person to torture another person purely for her own enjoyment, and even now she still wasn't that type of person. But after what Bellatrix had done to her master, Mordred wanted to watch as the life slowly drained from her eyes. She wanted to watch as the fear and realization of her own slow death haunted Bellatrix. She wanted to watch as she begged for mercy.

Not that Mordred would give her that.

It took Bellatrix Lestrange a few seconds to come to a rolling stop, her battered and bloody body limply tumbling to a halt far down the road. As soon as her momentum was finished, Mordred eyed the immediate surroundings for another servant. Finding none although, based on the killing intent flooding the area, knowing that there was at least one other servant on the opposite side of the housing line, she turned her attention to her master.

Harry was in terrible shape.

He was sprawled on the ground in a heap, breathing hard. There was a rapidly healing bruise around his throat and there was a large amount of blood in a pool below his thigh. Beyond his physical wounds he was fading in and out of consciousness and he hadn't even really registered Mordred's presence. Whatever Bellatrix had done to him had left at the edge of his senses.

That wasn't a good sign.

"…Master?" Mordred asked with a reluctance that was outside of her comfort zone. While Harry wasn't dead, he wasn't exactly functional either.

He didn't respond.

Damn that Bellatrix Lestrange! Her torture had left her master on the edge of life. Mordred could remember the screams; they sounded like Harry had been tortured to death and, based on his lack of response, Bellatrix might have permanently harmed him.

Mordred took to a knee as she lowered herself to Harry. His eyes were flickering with signs of life but they were glazed over. It was as though he could hear her but he couldn't see her. As though he was instinctively registering her voice but there was no intellect to interpret the information his senses were giving him.

He was worse off than she had initially expected.

"Master… Please answer me. Are you okay?"

Well, obviously he wasn't okay. Mordred regretted her words almost as soon as they left her mouth. Of course he wasn't okay. He had just suffered something unimaginable and right now he was unresponsive. Damn it, why hadn't she gotten there just a few moments earlier? Why hadn't she been able to protect him?

"Sa…ber?"

Mordred froze.

Harry had just spoken.

She hadn't completely failed.

But there was still killing intent in the air. Bellatrix's servant was still here somewhere.

Finding her center, Mordred swallowed hard before picking Harry up by his shoulders. Clarent disappeared into the air as she let go of it in order to properly grasp and support her master. Very carefully and very slowly, Mordred picked him up and rested him against her chest. It wouldn't do to injure him by moving him but at the moment there was no safe place for him to rest.

"Master… I'm here. No matter what, don't let go under any circumstances. " she replied softly. Her helmet distorted her voice and made it sound so much harsher than she wanted it to be.

With a gentle hand covered by rough armor, she cradled Harry next to her chest plate and pulled one of his arms up and behind her neck before layering his other hand in front of her neck and on top of his other hand. Once his arms were secure, she secured him to her body by wrapping her left hand around his legs and on his stomach.

"I knew you would save me…" he whispered as his grip around Mordred's neck tightened. Then he fell unconscious into the blissful release of sleep.

XXXXX

From his conjured throne across the street from number four Privet Drive servant Caster watched and waited. There was a disillusionment charm surrounding him as well as a few protective barriers that shielded his seat from any would be attackers. Those two combined with his naturally high presence concealment made it nearly impossible for anyone to detect him.

Observing from the sidelines wasn't Caster's initial plan, but it was currently the best course of action that he could take. Unbeknownst to any of the other participants in the war, Caster had been the first servant to arrive at the battlefield. When Ruler announced the bounty on Harry's head Caster had immediately dropped all of his planning and apparated to the house that sheltered the boy. He had planned on taking Harry's head as a trophy, a victory of sorts over his most hated enemy. Unfortunately, the boy had chosen to take shelter behind wards that Caster could not penetrate.

Quickly changing his plan, Caster threw up a couple of hasty spells and then fell back to his presence concealment skill. As long as he wasn't making an action, Caster would be able to observe the scene and strike at Harry Potter when the opportunity arose.

The wards surrounding the block were his; he had put them up when he first arrived at number four Privet Drive. They were a simple precaution to keep out the muggles and other riffraff away from the property that would inevitably become a battlefield. Against wizards or masters or other servants the barriers wouldn't do anything, but Caster wasn't too terribly worried about keeping the competition out. He was actually counting on the other servants to ignore his wards, as Caster was hoping that the other servants would fight amongst each other for Harry Potter's head.

He was also relying on them to break through the blood wards that had protected number four privet drive. As a master of the arcane, it only took a single poke of Caster's wand to determine that the wards surrounding the house were uniquely difficult to deal with. Unlike most wards that could be deftly bypassed like a locksmith breaking into a safe, blood wards could only be overpowered. Whereas most traditional wards had many moving parts, parameters by which they worked their magic, blood wards were inelegant tools that relied on a person or core to oversupply it with energy while unconsciously determining what to do. Traditional wards could function like clockwork, using the minimum amount of power for maximum results.

Blood wards were like putting up a five foot thick concrete wall- simple, but effective.

That wasn't to say that they didn't have their perks. Blood wards were notorious for being extremely difficult to break by virtue of the fact that there weren't any moving parts to exploit. The only way to break through them was to physically overpower them with brute force and Caster simply didn't have the strength to do so.

No, the servant of the spell was forced to wait for another servant to arrive and break down this barrier for him. Despite arriving first on the scene, Lord Voldemort was denied his chance to finally eliminate his mortal enemy.

In all honesty, Caster was quite amused that Bellatrix had arrived shortly after he did because her berserker had gone to town on the blood wards originally surrounding the property. The mad servant had quickly destroyed the wards that had stopped Caster and the man was sniffing out the location of Harry Potter. Without needing any instructions Bellatrix and Berserker was already acting out like a perfect pawn.

And then there was the fact that Bellatrix Lestrange was also a master in this war. During his life she had been Caster's most loyal minion. It wouldn't take much effort to convince her to support his cause. Just showing his face to her would likely cause Bellatrix to blindly rally behind him. And, unlike with Malfoy, she wouldn't need any magical tethers to keep her bound. Bellatrix Lestrange would be an excellent puppet with an excellent servant.

Just like that, Caster was very pleased to know that he would soon control three of the masters in this war. With them came two additional servants, assuming Lucius could regain control of his assassin. Together they would represent almost half of the fighting force in the tournament with all of the required aspects of the war under his control.

Regardless of the strength of individual servants and their masters, Caster had ways of dealing with all of them. He even had plans for Ruler, as he doubted that Gilgamesh's magic resistance would be enough to protect him from a well-placed imperius curse. Ruler's command sigils, although a formidable advantage, could be bypassed by not allowing him to use them. Soon this war would be his.

From his seat, he watched as Berserker sniffed out Harry Potter. Caster watched as Rider came to the boy's rescue. The epic confrontation between Berserker and Rider had destroyed the street around him. Then he watched as Sirius Black went into the house, Harry Potter ran from the garage, and Bellatrix went chasing after him. All the while Rider and Berserker continued to have their little spat.

He had been tempted to immediately chase after Harry Potter, but Rider was gaining the upper hand in his battle against Berserker. The mad dog's shovel had finally broken and he was weaponless against Rider's spear.

Well now, that wouldn't do.

Stretching and standing up from his invisible throne, Caster pulled out his wand and pointed at a chunk of upturned concrete. A few words later and the rock had transformed into a massive sledgehammer. Then Caster banished it towards Berserker, careful to remain invisible underneath his disillusionment and presence concealment.

Caster barely noted Rider's confusion as Berserker grabbed Caster's gift and charged. He didn't really care about it either. Caster was simply giving the mad servant a weapon to fight with. Berserker's strange ability of turning anything into a noble phantasm would do the rest.

Confident that Berserker would stall Rider for at least a few more minutes, Caster began walking towards the hole in the fence that Harry Potter had run towards. He was certain from the screams of pain that Bellatrix had already found Harry Potter. No doubt she was applying her favorite curse to the boy; based on his screams Bellatrix truly wanted him to suffer.

My, what a wonderful curse the Cruciatus was. The screams were music to Lord Voldemort's ears.

XXXXX

Not a moment had passed before Harry collapsed into unconsciousness in her arms. His words echoed relief and trust, as though Mordred was his trusted guardian. In part, she was - as his servant it was her job to protect him.

And yet, the way Harry had said that he knew Mordred would save him was strange to her. They had barely known each other for a little more than a day, and their initial impressions of each other had been terrible at best. Mordred hadn't approved of him and had murdered his relatives in anger. Harry had been terrified of her and had used a command seal to make her go away.

Despite all that, Harry was holding onto her. He trusted her with his life even though Mordred had done nothing to earn that trust. In fact it was quite the opposite. If anything she had only made his life worse in the past day and there was no reason for him to trust her. There was no reason for Harry to even like her, but he did.

Yes, she had just saved his life, but she had largely done that out of personal interest. If Harry died then she died as well. Saving Harry's life and stopping Bellatrix's torture of him had been purely because Harry was her master. Her act of protection had been one of duty, motivated by her own goals.

If Mordred had had someone else as a master, she wouldn't have even spared Harry a second glance.

It wasn't that Mordred wanted to kill him - she wasn't that sadistic. Rather, it was the fact that outside of their contract in the Holy Grail War she had no motivation to protect him. Despite that, Harry was blindly trusting Mordred to protect him. He was putting his faith in her to keep him completely safe from harm. He said it as though he was one hundred percent certain that Mordred would not let anything hurt him.

He said it as though Mordred was being motivated by genuine concern for his wellbeing.

The only reason Mordred had returned to Privet Drive was because she needed to protect Harry in order to protect her own legacy. Alaya had forced this burden upon her and if she failed then her legend would be erased. Hell, the only reason that she had even become a servant in the first place was because Alaya had forced her to.

If it was up to Mordred, she would have been perfectly content to have remained on the throne of heroes as she was. Harry Potter could easily have summoned a different hero for all she cared. She didn't want to be a servant in a war of Alaya's manipulation and she didn't want to risk her legend just so that Alaya could get her fingers around a new tool.

But it wasn't up to Mordred, so she had to make do as best as she could. She had to protect her master and she had to win the Holy Grail war for him. Only then would she get what Alaya called 'a chance to fix her legacy' - not that Mordred trusted her to follow through with that promise.

No. Mordred wasn't in this war for Harry. She was in this war for herself. Mordred was fighting purely for selfish reasons and the fact of the matter was that Harry was simply tagging along for the ride. And Mordred was extremely unhappy about even being forced into this situation in the first place.

But seeing Harry lying on the ground, tortured and damaged to the edge of life, with Bellatrix's boot heel upon his throat, had evoked a strange and foreign feeling inside of Mordred.

Mordred hadn't even given it a second thought before leaping into the battlefield. For that brief moment, the only thing she could focus on was how to stop Bellatrix from hurting Harry. For that brief moment, Mordred had been solely focused on not letting Harry come to any more harm.

For that brief moment, Mordred knew that she hadn't been thinking about herself. All she wanted to do was protect her young master who was too dumb to protect himself. She wasn't leaping into battle because Harry was her master but, rather, because Harry needed her.

Because it was the right thing to do.

He hadn't asked for this war, Mordred had. He just prayed for a servant to come from Alaya to love him. Mordred had made the deal – if you could call it that - with Alaya to create the Grail War. Harry hadn't summoned Mordred expecting a war; on the contrary Harry had accidentally gotten a war as a result of his naïve childish wish.

By accepting Alaya's offer, Mordred had dragged an innocent child into a desperate struggle. Then she killed his relatives in front of him. To make things worse she had even pissed off Gilgamesh to the point that he put a bounty on Harry's head – on the second day! And now he was resting in her arms, tortured and exhausted, in the blissful release of unconsciousness.

All his suffering was because of Mordred's actions.

But, despite all that she had done to him, Harry didn't have any scorn for Mordred. No, he was happy to see her once more. Harry was delighted to know that she had come to his rescue, as though this proved that she truly cared for him.

" _I just wanted someone to love me…"_

That's right. Those were his words. Harry's wish for the Holy Grail was just like her own wish for the Holy Grail. Even though Harry prayed for anyone to love him and Mordred would never tell anyone that secret truth, the two wishes were very much opposite sides of the same coin.

Throughout all of her life Mordred had never had anyone to lean on. Mordred had grown up as a knight, lived as a knight, and died as a knight. She had never had anyone to protect her or comfort her; she was expected to support herself. As a child Mordred had often wished for the same things as Harry - but she had never gotten them. She had been raised to never show weakness, raised to attain an impossible goal. Mordred was destined to become the king of Camelot.

And yet, despite all Mordred's strength, she had never received the affection of her father.

And yet, despite Harry's weakness - he was receiving something that had always been denied to her.

And she hadn't even thought about coming to protect him. She just did, even if it was originally for her own motivations. It was so easy to just instinctively leap into action to protect him and, even though Mordred didn't love Harry, her presence comforted him. She didn't love Harry, but the action was very real to him. Despite all their past history, just one act of kindness had brought him over to her side immediately.

The irony was a very bitter pill to swallow. Why couldn't her father have done the same for her?

XXXXX

Mordred stood in silence for a moment as she grounded her mental focus. Right now it wouldn't do to get mad at Harry or Alaya for her situation. She had bigger, more immediate concerns to worry about and as long as both her and her master got out of this alive then they could spend as much time as they wanted on the slightly less life threatening matters.

Harry was still unconscious in her arms, which was both a blessing and a curse. Any enemy seeking to harm her master would have to get through Mordred first, but at the same time holding her master effectively tied up her offhand and gave her a fatal flaw in her armor.

Despite the handicap, Mordred knew that the benefits of holding Harry so close outweighed the handicaps. The only effective angles of attack against him were from straight ahead - an area that Mordred could defend against - so there would be no sniping her master while she was distracted. At the same time Mordred's B-rank magic resistance would keep him safe from any magical attacks that she couldn't block with her sword. Any spell attacks that could be directed at Harry would also be directed at Mordred, so her own defense would double as his defense.

Right now Mordred knew that no one in this battlefield could be trusted with Harry's life. That simply meant that she would have to double her efforts to protect him. She would have to fight as though she was missing a massive portion of her armor and she would need to use Clarent with only her right hand. It limited her striking strength and attack angles but liberally using her prana burst ability should give her enough mobility and power to compensate for the handicaps.

For as useless as he was, Harry was still an everflowing font of mana. Mordred knew that and she was planning on using that to her advantage. There would be no holding back beyond what she needed to do in order to physically protect Harry.

"Excuse me, are you Harry's servant?"

Mordred's neck snapped to the right as she turned her attention to the new voice. It was embarrassing but there was currently so much killing intent flooding over the streets that she had somehow managed to miss the presence of another person.

There, on the lawn of a nearby house, stood a disheveled and gaunt man in dirty robes. He didn't feel like a servant but Mordred wasn't willing to take any more risks. There was a trail of upturned grass that indicated he had been send to the ground with no small amount of force but he was still standing - so he had at least a little endurance to him. He held up his hands as if to signal his surrender, but Mordred immediately noticed that he had a wand in his right hand.

His presence was small enough so as not to be a servant, but the stick in his hand clearly indicated what he was.

Clarent appeared in her hand and swung out to her side as she turned to the interloper, careful to shield Harry as much as possible from this new threat. She had already been witness to the foul magics that this world's spellcasters were capable of and Mordred didn't trust the new man in the slightest. He might not be a servant, but that didn't make him any less dangerous.

"Drop your stick or I'll cut off your hand."

The man immediately balked, showing confusion upon his face before realization set in. "Right, sorry, please don't kill me." he commented as he gently tossed the wand to the ground a few meters away from him. "My name's Sirius Black. If it's any consolation, I wasn't planning on hurting Harry."

"I am servant Saber, and Harry Potter is my master." replied Mordred with a hidden frown. The man seemed honest enough but a bit of paranoia was a good precaution at the moment. There was no telling what his motivations were and he could simply be a good liar. "I don't quite find myself believing your words."

"Well, I honestly don't blame you, but I really don't want to hurt him." replied Sirius Black as he shrugged his shoulders and did his best to put up a disarming smile, "For what it's worth you're holding my godson."

Mordred paused at Sirius Black's introduction. The grip on her sword tightened but she pulled the blade away from Sirius and brought it to her chest, pointed upwards. To the untrained eye it was a protective measure, seeing as she had raised it very close to Harry in a defensive move. This, naturally, was incorrect as it was also the proper position at which to build up enough momentum for a strike should she choose to cut down Sirius Black where he stood.

Sirius Black didn't miss her intentions behind the positional shift.

"Now I really don't believe you." she replied, her voice low and threatening. "His only relatives are the Dursleys and I killed them yesterday."

Sirius's smile dropped into a frown. He was apparently skating on thinner ice than he had hoped. Harry's servant Saber was being very paranoid in order to protect him and as a result she didn't trust his words. To be honest, he couldn't say he was surprised considering what Bellatrix had just done to Harry. It was completely reasonable for Saber to be distrusting and the fact that she was actually speaking to him instead of cutting him down was already a gift in and of itself.

"So that was you... Nevermind I suppose it doesn't matter that you killed them. They were probably the only proper place to protect him after I got locked up. Still, they were never nice people, so I guess karma caught up to them."

"You're rambling."

"Right, yes I am. Sorry, but six years in Azkaban can do that to a man. The point is that I'm his godfather but I got my sorry ass locked up behind bars. I wouldn't be surprised if Harry didn't even know I exist; he was only one year old when his parents died."

Mordred lowered her weapon slightly while still keeping it ready to strike. Even though Sirius Black seemed honest there was no telling if another servant would decide to ambush both of them. There was a copious amount of killing intention in the air, enough to flood out most of her extrahuman senses, and that meant that other servants were nearby.

Still, she had yet to be attacked by another servant. That meant that there was at least one other servant keeping Bellatrix's servant busy.

She knew that Bellatrix was a master but Mordred had yet to see any of the other potential masters. And if this man was really who he claimed to be, then odds were that he was also a master in this war and that he had his own servant fighting of Bellatrix's.

Sirius might be a potential tool to use in this grail war. His wishes could possibly align with Harry's wishes to make Mordred's life easier and another allied servant would definitely make the war easier.

"Let's assume I believe you, Sirius Black; you claimed to have been locked up but I see you standing here in front of me. How did you escape from this hypothetical prison?" questioned Mordred. It wasn't that she trusted this Sirius Black but at the very least he seemed like he wasn't in a position to harm Harry. And she could still use him.

Sirius smiled, he recognized Mordred's thinly veiled probe for what it was. Servant Saber might be dangerous, but she wasn't subtle. And she was at least considering his words. "I am a master in this war, just like Harry. Yesterday I summoned my servant and broke out of the prison."

"And who is your servant?" questioned Mordred immediately. If the amount of killing intent still in the area was anything to judge the situation on, Mordred needed to know which servants could potentially be an ally and which servants would be her enemies. It wouldn't do to accidentally attack Sirius Black's servant.

"My servant Rider is just on the other street keeping Berserker busy." supplied Sirius readily. It was becoming apparent that Harry's armored knight was leveraging the options and weighing out whether or not it would be in her best interest to ally with him.

"And what is your wish if you were to win this war?"

Sirius opened his mouth and then paused at Mordred's question. Underneath Saber's rapid fire questions he had almost answered immediately, but this she had just asked an extremely personal question. He swallowed hard and took a breath. What servant Saber was asking for was uncomfortable, yet he really wasn't in a position to deny her an answer.

Rider was currently fighting with Berserker and his wand was lying on the ground outside of his reach. Saber was protecting her master and could, at any moment, decide to kill him. Like it not his best chances at speaking to his god son again were by appealing to Saber - he couldn't force Mordred into letting Harry go.

But even if he denied Saber a proper answer just because he was uncomfortable answering, what good would it do? She was still Harry's servant and she was just doing her best to ensure that Harry was protected. Further, she had likely asked Sirius the question in order to judge his motivations. It was a question of paramount importance and it would tell her in an instant whether or not Sirius was worth allying with.

Not that Sirius had ever realized Mordred's true gender beneath her heavy armor and distorting mask.

"I guess..." started Sirius before pausing to think, "I guess I just want to fix my biggest mistake."

Mordred was silent for a moment as she thought over his answer. Everyone stood still as it appeared that she was pondering over the nature of his response. Finally, after a time that felt significantly longer than it actually was, Mordred questioned Sirius once again.

"Your biggest mistake?"

"Yeah. My biggest mistake. It got his parents killed." replied Sirius Black with a frown on his face. It was clear that he really did not want to answer her question but he had no choice in the matter. "It's a long and personal story, so I'm not gonna tell it to you here. But I will tell you that I want Lily and James back."

Behind her mask, Mordred smiled. Sirius Black had the same wish as her master. Harry wanted someone to love him and Sirius wanted Harry's parents back. Assuming he wasn't lying, which Mordred was finding increasingly hard to believe, Sirius Black had just proven that he would be a valuable ally in this Holy Grail War. At the very least, he would be an invaluable pawn.

XXXXX

Servant Caster stood above the broken body of Bellatrix Lestrange and simply could not resist the urge to sigh out of exasperation. Of course she would run into Harry Potter's servant. Of course she wouldn't be paying attention to Harry Potter's servant. Of course she would end up dismembered and at the edge of life on the second god damned day of the Holy Grail War.

"I mean, really," he complained to himself as he palmed his forehead, "with followers as inept as this it's no wonder I lost the first wizarding war…"

Today had been going so well. It really had.

"My lord?" questioned Bellatrix weakly as she stared at him with glassed over eyes. Judging by her delayed reactions and inability to stand up, Saber had really done a number on her. It appeared that his would be pawn desperately needed medical attention.

But hey, at least she recognized his presence.

The situation had taken a turn for the worse. Now there were two servants protecting Harry Potter and his Saber was currently sheltering him from harm. There was no way that Caster, a servant who had weak physical stats and relied on his magic, would be able to defeat both Rider and Saber. His usual repertoire of high class magic would bounce off Saber's magic resistance and Caster didn't have an ounce of divinity in him so he couldn't hurt Rider.

Somehow the boy had escaped Caster's grasp. Truly the boy had to have some form of divine luck, for he had managed to survive despite all the odds being stacked against him.

"It is I, Lord Voldemort," answered Caster in a comforting voice that was pure fake, "I have returned as servant Caster in this Holy Grail War."

"My lord… I failed you…" cried Bellatrix weakly.

"Your actions of the past are of no consequence, for we have been given a chance to win the Holy Grail War." replied Caster with a false sincerity. In truth he was furious at Bellatrix for failing him today, but she didn't know that he was watching her the entire time. It was more prudent to keep Bellatrix as a willing pawn, and as such he needed to pretend like he forgave her.

"My lord… I'll do whatever you ask…"

Good, she was trying to crawl into a kneeling position despite the fact that her body was crushed and she was missing two limbs. Manipulating her would be even easier than Caster expected, and that was saying something considering Caster hadn't expected any problems at all.

"Today Harry Potter has escaped us. Recall your servant and allow me to heal you. We shall return to fight another day."

XXXXX

Just as Mordred questioned Sirius the house behind him exploded outwards. Wood, plaster, and cement all erupted forth from the house as though a cannonball had decided that the defenseless house had been a good target. Building materials were turned into shrapnel and dangerous debris as Sirius jumped in surprise before ducking down just in time to avoid a large piece of plumbing.

Mordred simply turned to one side in order to shelter Harry from the blast, allowing for the shrapnel to harmlessly bounce off her armor. All the while she kept her attention at the sudden eruption, watching as two servants emerged from the explosion.

The first was Rider, his back having been used as the ammunition to plow straight through the home. In his right hand was Diatrecon Aster Logche, which he held defensively as he skidded backwards against the ground. There was no apparent damage to him and he recovered his position skillfully, even though he had been tossed through a significantly large object. Wood chunks were still in the air and not a moment had fully passed before he was readying himself to strike at his opponent.

Berserker followed almost immediately afterwards. There was an inhuman scream of rage coming from the mad knight as he rushed recklessly at Rider through the newly opened path between the streets. In his hands rested a heavy black sledgehammer with a strange mist swirling around it, though it wasn't going to be resting for long.

Berserker had it raised above his head.

"Suffer!" he shouted in a feral rage as he rapidly closed the distance in order to bring down his hammer upon Rider.

"Stop him!" screamed Sirius Black, who had managed to survive the exploding house without harm. Still, he was standing directly behind Rider with only a few feet of separating distance. He was once again in the path of danger.

With a scowl on his face, Rider looked back for a split second to reassess the situation. Berserker was barreling straight towards Rider with a near unstoppable force. So far, the mad knight had proven time and time again that he had more than enough power to toss around Rider just through the force of his blows.

"Damn it!" cursed Rider as he planted his feet in the ground and readied his spear defensively. Because of the strength of Berserker's blows he had been planning on side stepping the attack but he realized now that that would only put his master right in the path of harm. But even if he blocked then there was still a significant chance that the force of Berserker's blows would push Rider into his master.

Damned if you do. Damned if you don't.

His problem was solved when an armored knight appeared to Berserker's right in a burst of speed. The ground ripped beneath his boots as he abruptly stopped and raised his sword high above his head.

Rider noted that Harry Potter was in the knight's left hand, but that didn't stop the servant from lashing out at Berserker.

Mordred nearly screamed with force as she brought down Clarent upon berserker. She had reacted the instant that Berserker and Rider appeared, ready to strike whichever of the two was immediately hostile. Initially she had moved toward Rider, but that plan was quickly scrubbed when she saw Berserker.

Sirius had said that the enemy servant was Berserker, and the armored knight was leaking so much rage that it was impossible for him to be anyone else.

Now she was in a perfect position to strike from the mad servant's blind spot. He was so focused on smashing Rider that he paid Mordred no attention. Even as she flared energy through her body in a pair of prana bursts, Berserker had such a great tunnel vision that he wasn't ready for her strike. Instead he was bringing down his hammer upon Rider and not defending himself.

Rider's eyes went wide as he watched Saber's blade strike diagonally down against Berserker's helmet. Even though she was striking with one hand the blow contained so much force that it cut deeply into the side of Berserker's helmet. The prana exploded against the mad servant, driving her blade even deeper against his armor and forcibly knocking his sledgehammer off target.

Berserker roared in fury as his weapon smashed a crater in the ground and threw up dirt, but he was off balance and unable to defend himself from Mordred's follow up.

"Betrayer!" Berserker snarled, his black cloud of anger swirling around him. He desperately pulled upwards with his sledgehammer but it was no good. Mordred was inside of his guard.

"Get out of my sight." stated Mordred with a surprisingly calm fury as she pulled Clarent away from Berserker and then kicked outwards with yet another prana burst. As always, Mordred overloaded the force behind the blow and struck true. Her foot planted in his chest and then the kinetic energy erupted out against him.

Berserker's usual screams were strangely silent as he rocketed down the road towards his master. However, unlike his master, Berserker reoriented his body and dug his armored boots and a fist into the pavement. The road itself was torn asunder as Berserker carved a deep trench to cancel his momentum before he came to a halt. Then, while he still had the attention of the two servants that he had fought, he hissed out a single word.

"Betrayer…" He cursed, standing tall and pointing at Mordred with a single outstretched finger. He slowly began to fade away, astralizing under the orders of his master.

The mad knight's accusation sent a chill down Mordred's spine. Somehow this servant knew who she was and, apparently, he had a bone to pick with her. No doubt they would once again come to blows before this battle was over.

XXXXX

Rider retained his defensive position as he weighed his options. On one hand he probably needed to keep track of Berserker, even though the mad knight had just disappeared. On the other hand servant Saber was probably the bigger threat to him at the moment.

In just two strikes Saber had proven to be just as monstrously strong as Berserker and the servant was standing right next to him, albeit Saber wasn't looking to follow through with a strike against him. And not only had Saber dealt a more decisive blow to Berserker than Rider had, but he was also carrying Harry Potter in her left hand.

And Rider knew that the servant was Saber because there was no other class that was proficient in the sword. Only the saber, rider, and berserker could possibly wield the sword and the latter two were already accounted for. The servant protecting Harry Potter had to be a Saber - though who he was, Rider did not know.

Saber kept his blade lowered as he hopped back to a safe distance outside of Rider's reach with his spear. They were still in close proximity to each other but it was a sufficient distance to avoid having to scuttle around each other's weapon. Even without words it was obvious that Saber wasn't looking to start a fight with Rider.

For a short time they all simply stood in silence. Neither of the servants were willing to engage the other servant. Sirius was simply standing behind Rider and keeping an eye out for Berserker. Harry Potter was unconscious in Saber's arm.

Finally, after the killing intent finally began to fade from the air, Rider lowered his spear and spoke up. "Servant Saber, I presume?"

Mordred nodded beneath her mask, "I am servant Saber. From your actions I trust that you are servant Rider?"

"You are correct." replied Rider as he released his frown into a smile. "From your actions I trust that you have decided to ally with my master."

"For now." replied Mordred before pausing, "the ultimate decision is up to my master, but at the moment it would be in both our interests to work together."

XXXXX

Atop the second floor rooftop of number sixteen Oak drive stood a man, a bow, and his unique arrow. All three were combined into a single entity as Archer stood high on a chimney in preparation to take his shot.

His targets were only a quarter of a mile away; he didn't need to reinforce his eyes in order to properly see them. While he would have preferred to be a bit farther away from his opponents, the rather uniform housing of this area made it so that there were no high buildings from which he could get a proper angle to fire an arrow. Archer supposed he could have angled his shot like a mortar round, but in order to do so he would have had to sacrifice accuracy for lack of visual contact.

Still, he was standing upon the highest building to his targets in a three kilometer radius. It would do.

For today's mission Archer had three targets; four if you counted Saber and her master as two separate targets. Rider was invulnerable so that meant that only his master was a valid target. Harry Potter was right up next to his Saber, making both of them an easy double kill. The master of Berserker was bleeding out, so she wasn't worth wasting an arrow on. Finally there was the Caster who was picking over her body with something arcane.

He had originally only had one target, Harry Potter, but that list had grown quickly after his arrival at the edge of the battlefield. Rider, Saber, Caster - all were easy targets for him. They weren't moving and at this close of a distance he simply would not miss. Even if they did run, the modified Hrunting that Archer was planning on using would track them down.

Each target had merits to killing but Archer would only likely get one shot before the other servants reacted to his presence. He could swap to a different sword arrow but then he would lose the assuredness of the kill. The exploding Caladbolg II was an option, but it was still daylight out and the explosion would cause too much collateral damage and draw too much attention.

In the end, Archer knew that with his first shot he had to aim for the boy. The boy's saber was a very strong servant and Gilgamesh had put a target on Harry's head. Logically the boy was the most appealing target and it would be relatively easy to recover his corpse after the battle.

While anyone else might have balked at killing a kid, Counter Guardian Emiya was prepared walk down that path if it meant freeing him and his sister from the hands of fate. During his service to Alaya he had committed far worse crimes. One more death was simply a statistic.

Hrunting was nocked against his projected bow and Archer held it pointed down, ready to draw at any time. But it was strange; something felt off about this whole situation, Archer felt like he was missing some crucial detail and that kept him from pulling upon the bow string. His skill, eye of the mind (true), was telling him not to shoot Harry Potter, but rather to understand the full situation before killing the boy.

Somehow, in order to best improve his chances at success, Archer knew that he couldn't kill Harry Potter. Somehow Archer knew that this boy was a crucial tool to his success. Unfortunately, despite realizing this, it only raised more questions for the servant of the bow.

Why would Gilgamesh offer a bounty on the boy's head so early into the war? As arrogant as the King of Heroes was, it didn't make sense to target Harry in such a way. There had to be some ulterior motive to inciting all the servants against Harry Potter. Establishing a hunt on the boy simply because he wanted out of the war was out of Gilgamesh's character.

Gilgamesh was the ruler of this war and as such he could simply have used a command seal and ordered the saber to kill herself. Even if he wanted to have a show, as the golden King had claimed, he could have simply used that command seal to order saber to kill her master – delighting as he watched Saber desperately attempt to resist the command seal. As the ruler of this Holy Grail War, Gilgamesh was still required to keep it a general secret from humanity and having such a large fight in broad sunlight in the middle of suburbia wasn't really a great way to keep it a secret. In fact, it was disgustingly negligent – and Gilgamesh was many things, but he would at least take his job in this Grail War seriously.

There were far better ways to eliminate Harry Potter without exposing the war to the world. There were far better ways to punish Saber. As arrogant and grandiose as Gilgamesh was, it was almost as if Gilgamesh didn't want Harry to die here. But why would Gilgamesh go to all the trouble of setting up all the pawns if he didn't want Harry to die? What piece of this puzzle was Archer missing?

A dull and bored comment came from behind him and pulled him from his thoughts.

"My master would like to know why you haven't fired your arrow yet." asked Lancer with disinterest as he sat behind Archer on the roof. In his hands, resting on his right shoulder, was a long red spear that he would tap against the roofing shingles every so often in boredom. "She says that hesitation is outside your character, though why she knows so much about you is beyond me."

Cu Chulainn, Ireland's famous child of light, had once again been summoned to do battle in the Holy Grail War. This time he had been summoned by Rin Tohsaka after a hasty summoning ritual that had somehow gone off perfectly. He still wore his fanciful blue jumpsuit that matched his hair, but his personality was still the same.

A battle nut, through and through, Lancer had been summoned immediately following Gilgamesh's announcement. As a result he had scarcely gotten any time to acclimate to the environment before being thrust into battle. And he had taken it all with a good attitude, claiming that he liked his master already.

But after thirty minutes of simply watching the other servants have fun while Archer observed them, it was safe to say that he was very bored and getting impatient.

Archer frowned and clicked his tongue, "Ask Rin if she's aware that the original target is a seven year old boy."

Surprised, lancer turned to Archer with raised eyebrows, "A seven year old?"

"Yes, a seven year old," replied Archer with a mask of stoicism, "I know this is a war but something feels off about this situation. Since my master is asleep I want to confirm with Rin before I fire."

"Hmm..." muttered Lancer as he hopped to his feet and walked over next to Archer. He squinted his eyes, raised a free hand to block the sun, and looked closely. "She wants to me to confirm that what you're saying is true. Have you identified which servant belongs to him?"

"Yes; the saber. Harry Potter is the boy in her arms."

"Her?" inquired Lancer as he continued to squint down the road. From the distance the details were a bit fuzzy, but he could still identify all the figures on the street and the only female was the master that the saber had grievously injured. Saber didn't look like a girl.

"Yes, the saber is a girl." replied Archer concisely.

"That tin can is a girl?" asked Lancer incredulously, "How can you tell? She looks like a suit of armor to me."

"I have my methods. Now tell Rin that I have questions over the situation and ask her if I should still shoot the kid."

Lancer paused, mentally contacting Rin. Then he frowned and rolled his eyes as he silently communicated with his master. The conversation lasted about thirty seconds, during which Archer kept his bow pointed down. It wouldn't do to waste energy on the shot before he was ready to take it.

"She wants to know who Harry's saber is."

Archer sighed and closed his eyes before dismissing Hrunting. He knew that Rin would ask that, given that Archer had identified Saber as a female. Much to his disappointment Rin was first focused on whether or not the saber would be a threat rather than why Gilgamesh had put the bounty on Harry's head. Rin was willing to be a pawn if it meant winning the war.

Granted, Archer was too but he still wanted to know more about the situation in order to make the best moves possible.

But was Mordred's secret really his to tell? She wore her noble phantasm, the Secret of Pedigree, as a helmet to hide her identity from the world and to most observers it would have worked. But Archer had identified Mordred through Clarent. One quick glance at the sword had told Archer all he needed to know about her, courtesy of his Unlimited Blade Works. His reality marble had ensconced the blade in his inner world and told him everything about her, giving Archer a detailed story of Mordred's life whenever she used her sword...

... From Mordred's theft of Clarent while her father was away from the throne all the way up to her death when her lifeless body used Clarent to give King Arthur a lethal wound.

Given that King Arthur was actually Arturia Pendragon and a female, Archer wasn't all that surprised to learn that Arturia's bastard son was actually a bastard daughter. In fact, that was honestly the least surprising thing that he had learned just from looking at Mordred's sword. Archer really would have preferred to have not heard her last words...

... But back to the topic at hand.

"It's not my place to tell you her legend." replied Archer dismissively.

Lancer actually turned his attention away from the servants they were spying on and stared at Archer. There was a look on his face that asked the servant of the bow if he was being serious but all Archer gave him was a bowed head and stony silence as though he were in deep mourning.

Receiving no response, Lancer informed his master of Archer's reply and waited for instructions. Then he frowned deeply. Clearly he disagreed with whatever Rin had told him, but he still voiced no complaints.

"She says you don't have to shoot him. But she wants you to at least shoot something before returning home."

XXXXX

"As much as I don't want to intrude on your conversation… There's someone helping Bellatrix."

Both Saber and Rider turned their attention to the crippled master down the street. Sure enough, there was indeed a cloaked figure standing above Bellatrix. His hands were stretched to his side and magic flowed outwards before visibly wrapping around the fallen master.

"Caster!" sneered Saber as she moved to charge. Bellatrix was supposed to suffer, not receive aid!"

Before she could kick off the ground, an outstretched hand from Rider crossed her path and paused her actions.

"Why are you stopping me?" questioned Mordred angrily as her grip tightened around Clarent.

Rider frowned before twirling his spear in his hand. He made two full rotations before abruptly stopping and pointing it down the street towards their hooded guest.

Actually, that was wrong. At first it appeared as though he was pointing Diatrecon Astor Logche at Caster, but as Mordred squinted her eyes and looked far in that direction she could actually see that he was pointing it past Caster, to the rooftops far behind him.

Two more servants, barely visible; one sitting on a chimney and the other on the roof next to him. The man on the roof had a bow in his hand.

XXXXX

"Damn." cursed Archer as he readied his bow. "We've been spotted by rider."

Lancer perked up, hopefully that meant an end to the observations and a beginning to the hostilities. He was getting very bored on the rooftop.

"Oh good, does that mean we're actually going to fight?"

"No. There are still four servants down there and that puts us at a numerical disadvantage. I want to shoot a warning first and see how they react. If they back off then we will also back off."

Lancer just sighed in exasperation.

"Damn it Archer. It's only been a couple of hours and I already hate you."

XXXXX

"There are at least four servants over there." observed Rider aloud. His tone was cocky and dismissive but he wasn't smiling. "I doubt they're all allied but the objective is the same…"

Rider trailed off, going silent after saying his piece; but Mordred knew exactly what he was hinting at.

Each and every servant was looking to kill her master.

"Damn it all…" thought Mordred to herself. This was a bad situation. No matter how strong Mordred knew she was, fighting off four servants was a tall order. Even with Rider's help, it was still likely that they would all be gunning directly for her master. There was a chance that they would fight chaotically and allow Mordred to play them against each other, but that was a small chance. In all likelihood they would probably try to team up against Rider and Saber in order to kill Harry.

Against one servant, two if you included caster, Mordred knew that she could easily win. She was the Saber of this war and she was the strongest person on the battlefield. Only her father was capable of defeating her in combat and, even then, his victory had been pyrrhic. Confident that her father was not amongst the opponents, Mordred was sure that she could defeat one or two of the servants despite being handicapped with Harry.

But four? That was simply pushing her luck. Confidence was one thing, but to say that she could protect Harry against all four enemy servants was pure arrogance. There were too many factors, too many ifs, too many potential problems with saying that she could handle four servants at once while protecting Harry. Even with Rider's help, that was pushing her luck.

But it wasn't like they could just sit back and let the enemy approach. There was an Archer and a Caster in enemy line up.

"And what would you propose we do?" questioned Mordred as she assumed a more defensive posture. In the far distance she could see Archer raising his bow and preparing an arrow. "Would you propose we wait while that Archer takes free shots against us?"

"Charging in with your master in that condition is suicide." replied Rider dryly. "However with an archer and a caster, and who knows what the fourth servant is, staying back makes us target practice. Though I am loath to admit, there simply isn't a way we can properly fight while protecting our masters. Would the situation be different I would run them down myself, but as it stands we have but one real option – retreat."

Mordred scoffed, but had to admit that Rider made sense. Still, the way that he proposed to just run away irked her. She was the son of King Arthur and she did not run.

"So that's it? We just run away like cowards?"

"Cowards?"

Rider slowly turned towards Mordred, facing her full on with an ill intent leaking from his figure. Rage was flowing outwards from his body as he scowled deeply. If looks could kill, Rider would have acquired yet another deadly noble phantasm.

"Listen, Saber." he spat, "My name is Achilles, the greatest Greek legend and I. Don't. Run. – but right now my master has made it clear that he values the life of your master over winning a fight. In the current situation, the only real way to protect your master is to retreat. Or would you prefer that I carve your heart out with Diatrecon Astor Logche and forcibly remove your master from your care?"

Scathing words, directed solely at the servant he was supposed to be allied with.

Mordred stared at him and Achilles stared right back at her. For the longest time neither servant said anything; both legends refusing to back down. Neither was happy for their immediate situation and the tension from the impending crisis was palpable in the air. They were two temporary allies forced into an uncomfortable agreement and the attitudes were coming out.

"Uh guys?" questioned Sirius as he stood off to the side, forgotten, "Is this really the right time for this?"

Achilles ignored his master and remained solely focused on Mordred. An arrow passed his head and narrowly missed him by about an inch, but he still stared straight at Mordred.

"So, Saber, what's it going to be? Are we going to work together or do you think you can protect your master against five servants?"

Mordred was furious at Achilles's question. He was taking over command of the situation and forcibly removing Mordred's options. He was proposing a retreat and he had just given her a very bitter ultimatum. Retreat or be destroyed.

Still, at the moment she could ill afford to burn a bridge with a potential ally. Especially in this situation, Achilles was right. Either they could retreat together or Mordred would find herself fighting not just him, but four other servants.

But beyond that, he acted as though he didn't respect her own abilities to fight. Achilles might have been the second strongest servant in the war and he might have had an immortal legend, but Mordred was certain that she was far stronger than he was. In a fight, she could take his head.

Unfortunately, at the moment, that wasn't the greatest idea. The only way to guarantee Harry's safety was to leave.

And to think that Rider was willing to swallowing his pride and make a tough choice where Mordred was not. Harry wasn't even his master; he was just someone that Sirius Black wanted to protect. To Achilles, Harry was just some objective to defend. He didn't value Harry nearly as highly as Mordred should have. That was the real rub.

Another arrow came at them. This time Mordred raised Clarent and batted it away. It ricocheted off her steel blade and buried itself in the dirt at Rider's feet. Achilles kept his face in a stone cold scowl as he stared at her, but Mordred lowered her blade. She had made her point.

If she had wanted to fight Achilles, she would have ricocheted the arrow into his heel.

"Although it insults my dignity to flee, you are right Rider." she announced, summoning all the possible eloquence and dignity to her voice. "Your proposal is the only correct way to ensure the safety of our masters."

Achilles smirked as he let a smile crack through his face. It was good to see that Harry's servant had a brain capable of more than violence and arrogance. Far too many soldiers did not know when to admit defeat and simply walked into death willingly before their time had really come.

He lowered his spear from his guard position and raised his free hand to his mouth. Placing two fingers at his lips in order to whistle, he was about to call upon Troias Tragoidia when Saber interrupted him.

"Mordred."

Achilles paused, raiding an eyebrow to question Saber.

"Excuse me?" he asked without a hint of anger.

"You gave me your name and it would be an insult not to give you mine. My name is Mordred; the son of Arthur and rightful heir to Camelot."

* * *

(A/N): Well, this chapter got away from me. Originally this chapter had a lot more mass, but then I realized it was nearing ~15k words and decided to trim it down. Originally Archer was going to Caladbolg Saber, Lancer was going to "kill" Caster, Rider was going to reveal _another_ Noble Phantasm, and then there was going to be an absurd fight between Archer and Saber. Then I realized that the chapter was getting out of hand and a lot of it flowed weird. Mordred's last statement felt like a nice place to end the chapter so I decided to cut it off there.

In unrelated news, F:SN Unlimited Blade Works just ended. If you haven't watched it yet, go do so now. It's such a significantly better product then the original DEEN anime that I can't help but feel a little bitter. Ufotable Fate route when? _please?_

I really don't have that much else to say, and I responded to most of the questions/concern reviews in private messages. Instead of answering reviews here, I'll simply say thanks for reading :)


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